


Manus in Manu

by CarpensDiem



Series: Bellona Drager [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), SHIELD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 91
Words: 145,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpensDiem/pseuds/CarpensDiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had a metal arm and she had metal eyes. Cold, unforgiving, merciless. Not the kind you can save —  the kind that can't be stopped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 29, 2012

Waking up from cryogenic sleep is like waking up from a living nightmare. A nightmare in which everything is frozen: your mind, your body, your cells, time, even the neurons firing through your brain. Yet somewhere in the back of your head is this tiny little itch of mental awareness, screaming into the depths of Lake Cocytus that yes, you are alive, yes, you do exist. Unfortunately there is nothing you can do about that small voice drifting aimlessly through your head — until the machine’s power is cut.  
“What is it?”  
“Who is it, would be the correct question.”  
“Alright then: who is it?”  
“I do not know, but it appears to be female.”  
“No shit. Even your hair isn’t that long, your highness.”  
“How many times must I inform you, Stark, I am a god, not a mortal, earthly king.”  
“This is no time to argue over trivialities.”  
“Oh please accept my humblest apologies, Mr. Star-Spangled Banner, do you know who we’re looking at?”  
“No, Tony, I don't. But I'm sure we would all appreciate it if you could lower your voice and lose your tone.”  
“I'm sorry, I was under the impression this was no time to argue over so-called ‘trivialities’.”  
“Shut it, Stark. This place was one of the most heavily guarded Hydra facilities, this is no time for your bullshit.”  
“Okay, so what that response tells me, Miss Know-It-All, is that no one knows who this is.”  
“Then maybe we should stop talking about it and find out.”  
She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, but she could tell from the sudden wheezing of air around her that the front of the cryogenic machine had been opened, and suddenly there was a loud banging on the metal encasing her arms, and the bindings on her other limbs sprang loose. It was after this that she flicked open her eyes and found herself staring directly into a pair of tortured blue eyes, similar to the one’s she could recall last seeing, but these were shrieking with curiosity and caution, not despair and horror.  
She stumbled forward, her first movement in over a decade. And she fell towards the ground below; several hands reached out to grab her before she could land face-first before them.  
“Holy shit,” her voice cracked when she spoke. Caught by many different pairs of hands, she pulled herself upwards, wincing as she straightened out her stiff muscles and creaking bones. Tendrils of phantom pains were shooting up and down her limbs, making her body feel tender and sore.  
“My God, this kid must be a legend, her first words out of cryo are ‘holy shit’.”  
“Stark!” Several voices shouted this at the member of their group who’d spoken, and she took the moment to study the motley collection of people around her.  
The first she’d seen, with the pained blue eyes, was supporting her tiny frame with a steady arm, looking down at her with wary concern as though trying to determine what level of threat she presented. His face was confident and determined, crowned with honey blond hair that contrasted eloquently against the cobalt armored uniform he wore, which complemented his muscled body dramatically. He emitted the aura of a leader, and the others seemed to accept him as theirs. A round, colorful shield was in his other hand, decorated with red and blue circles around a white star. She stared silently at the star for a moment. There was a matching one on his chest, but she didn’t know why it made her pause like so.  
Next to him was another man, about the same height, but remarkably different in bearing. He was wearing a maroon and gold suit that appeared to be made of some sort of metal, lights glowed from it at several different spots, but his head and face were bare, boasting a well-groomed goatee and intrigued brown eyes, a slight feeling of arrogance was hovering around him; yet something about him seemed vaguely familiar to her. She immediately identified him as the one who had been talking the most.  
Beside him was another; taller, he had long blond hair, an ethereal outfit, and was loosely clutching a large hammer. There was something superior in his bearing, and she assumed this was the one who had named himself a god. He was eyeing her with both confusion and interest, tilting his head slightly to one side like an overgrown dog.  
Opposite him were two others, both possessing more subtle auras, but neither less notable than their companions. One was a man, appearing older than the others, he had sharp eyes and a bow and arrow that hung from his hands with an agile ease that suggested unparalleled competence. Immediately beside him was a redheaded woman, in a flattering skin-tight black outfit that contrasted against her pale skin and bright hair, lending to her intimidating mien. Several different types of weapons could be identified on her person, and it was to be assumed that many more went unseen until needed.  
“Who the hell are you all?” She coughed, standing up straight and giving a slight glance at their leader in the blue uniform, who, seeing it, released his supporting grip from her arm and took a slight step backwards, as though to get a more accurate look at her.  
None of them responded to her question; they stood staring silently at her, as though sizing her up and being more than a bit baffled by what they observed.  
The girl stood before the Avengers in a black combat uniform, although her forearms had silver chainmail-like material covering them from fingertips to just beneath her elbow. Her dark chestnut hair was pulled back in a tight French braid that trailed down to her lower back. Her blue eyes dominated her pale, gaunt face; they drew an onlookers eye to them immediately, with their whirlpools of deep color, they hinted at some mystery lurking just beyond their azure depths. A white oval-shaped scar of a birthmark lay in the hollow of her throat, making it look as if she was perpetually wearing a necklace. She looked bewildered, fear was flashing across her face like a cornered animal and she seemed to be nursing her right side, but her features were sharply defined and undaunted, and her exceptionally short stature added to the fact that she couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old.  
“Who are you?” The man — no, the god, spoke up, his voice supercilious and demanding, an odd expression on his face, he was staring at the girl before them as though she were some sort of supernatural apparition.  
She frowned, confused as to why none of the group could answer her question but they felt compelled to interrogate her. Then she turned her mind to the question, and found she couldn’t answer it. Her mind was foggy, faint memories and recollections drifted around it, lost and without direction. She could hardly think, much less remember. Her neurons were indolent, refusing to fire across her brain. “I… I’m…” She paused, her eyes drifting downwards, “I don’t… know….”  
“Sounds suspicious,” the man with the bow and arrows piped up, his arms flexing as he raised his bow, “and it’s probably a lie.”  
“Clint, relax,” the leader in the blue uniform held up a hand and the man he addressed lowered his bow, yet didn’t bother hiding his irritation.  
“I know who she is,” the one in the metal suit said suddenly in a quiet voice, his tone having completely changed from the arrogance before. The emotions flickering behind his eyes were completely unreadable. “She’s supposed to be dead.”  
“What?” Several of the others exclaimed simultaneously, turning to stare at him.  
He gazed directly at the trembling girl, his deep brown eyes scrutinizing her face with the intensity of a presiding judge. Then he stated her name as though he was announcing the jury’s decision.  
“Bellona Drager.”  
At the pronunciation of this name, her eyes widened and she took a step back, stumbled against the cryo machine behind her and sank down to the ground with a clumsy movement. The name triggered flashes of memory, like lightning from an approaching storm; she dropped her head into her chainmail-encased hands and attempted to massage away the headache this produced.  
“Drager?” The man with the arrows asked, “like the Dragers?”  
“Yes.”  
“But-”  
“Who are the Dragers?” The god wielding the hammer interrupted.  
The one in the red armor inhaled deeply and blurted out a quick explanation, all the while staring down at the girl. “James Drager was the most renowned lawyer of the twentieth century…. extremely wealthy and incredibly skilled, he could get Jean Valjean hanged for stealing bread or Adolf Eichmann acquitted of all charges. He helped found SHIELD, working out any legal complications they came across when it came to government authority. Besides that, he was a good friend of my father's, and dabbled in business…. He was a major stockholder of Stark Industries…. His wife, Maria, was a famous archaeologist, and grew up alongside my mother…. They were best friends.... Anyway, the Dragers were murdered in their Boston home back in 1991. That same day, their only child, who was also my parents’ goddaughter, was thought to have been killed in the explosion that rocked the oldest high school in the nation. The two events are believed to be unrelated, but it was still an international scandal…. I’ve known Bellona since she was born…. We practically grew up together….” he stopped speaking when he saw the girl’s expression. She was staring at him with a blank face and mystified eyes, as though unsure if what he was saying was the truth.  
“Who are you?” She demanded sharply.  
“Bella…. I’m…. Tony Stark.”  
“How did you survive the explosion?” The man with the long blond hair and godly aura broke in, before she could ask another question. He appeared to be even more doubtful of Stark’s explanation than the girl before them.  
“What explosion?”  
“The one that allegedly blew up your school.”  
“Oh…” She frowned, her lips curving downwards as she wracked her brain, trying to remember what exactly had happened on the day they were referring to. “If that actually happened, which I…. Can't really recall, it would have to do with Hydra.”  
“What do you mean?” Navy blue suit with the shield asked suddenly.  
She ignored this question and instead extended her left arm out towards the group. The silver chain metal covering it flashed and glinted even in the flickering lights of the facility. “Someone take this off.”  
Everyone facing her glanced around at each other before Tony Stark stepped forward, and held his own metal hand slightly above the metal covering hers. A beam of light shot out and a crack appeared in the chainmail, then he flicked it off her arm as though it were made of paper.  
“Here is the answer to your question,” she looked up and around at the group, and pointed an accusing finger at her now bare left wrist. Glaring out from her pale skin were two ugly symbols, branded onto her very flesh; a bloody hydra head and a scarlet Soviet star. A shudder passed through most of the group. Their leader with the shield inhaled sharply, a disturbed look coming over his face. The redhead took a step back, her green eyes were wide with shock and a touch of fear. Tony Stark’s jaw was slack, gazing down at her wrist in quiet agony. “And before you ask — this is the nicest thing Hydra’s ever done to me.”


	2. December 2, 1991

"Extraction. Target must not be mortally wounded, minimal injuries preferred. Building is wired to go. Escape route calculated.”   
The orders were still ringing in his ears. He didn't like phase two of this assignment. He preferred phase one, it had been clean and concise. But extraction and an uninjured target? That could present some challenges.   
He glanced towards the large building, eyes drawn to the sudden flashes of movement. Evidently the school day had ended and students were being released; irritated teens were spewing from all doors, rushing away from the building as quickly as their disproportionate legs could carry them. He leaned forward, gazing through the tinted windshield of the matte black Mercedes SUV as the windshield wipers flicked away the light snowflakes that were beginning to stick.   
He spotted the target immediately, and he still didn’t understand why she was considered such an target. Dark hair pulled back into a single French braid was quickly covered by a baseball cap displaying her support of a local sports team. A black windbreaker, dark jeans, and tall rubber boots helped her trek through the accumulating snow. The color scheme alone was intimidating, but coupled with the confidence in her gait and she emitted an aura that suggested one wouldn’t want to cross her.   
He reached forward and turned the car’s engine on. It hummed to life with a low growl as he watched the target turn onto the sidewalk directly across from the Mercedes. She passed the car on the opposite side of the street, and, as if sensing eyes on her, snapped her head to the right and stared directly into her pursuer’s eyes. He knew she couldn’t see through the windows, tinted so dark it was impossible to see the car’s interior from the outside, but her eyes were so blue they seemed to pierce his own from across the street. He blinked, turning his gaze briefly away from the target, it felt as though she had sliced right through him with a single glance, creating a feeling of deep unease somewhere in the back of his mind. When he looked back, the target was hurrying down the street, at a suspiciously quick pace, as though she knew trouble was coming.   
“Target sighted, clear of zone, extraction imminent,” he muttered into the miniature radio on the car dash before smoothly pulling the Mercedes out of its parked spot and rolling down the street in fast pursuit. The radio squawked a confirmation before turning to static and then descending into silence. He floored the gas and the car shot forward, zipping down the narrow, deserted street the target had turned onto. Immediately before the Mercedes had taken the corner, there was a loud rumbling and then an explosion that caused the car to lurch and jolt as the street beneath it tremored with shockwaves. The school building had exploded with the force of a miniature atomic bomb. The eruption was so great, the fleeing girl found herself thrown to the ground unexpectedly, slipping down onto the treacherous, snow covered sidewalk. It took only a matter of seconds for the Mercedes to screech to stop, its driver to exit the vehicle, snatch the girl by her waist, and toss her into the back of the black SUV. The doors locked automatically, the driver hopped back into the driver’s seat and floored the gas once more.  
“What the hell?” The girl screamed from the leather backseat of the car. Snowflakes were hanging like crystals on her dark eyelashes, her blue eyes were ablaze with astonishment, fear, and horror. “Who are you? What the hell is this? What…. just happened….” She jerked around and stared out the back window, where a cloud of dust could just be seen from the explosion before the car whipped around another corner and sped onto a major freeway. The jolting of the car threw her across the seats, making her yelp with fright, yet it took only seconds for her to fling herself across the car’s interior and into the front passenger seat, where, without thinking about the possible consequences, she lunged for the wheel, attempting to dislodge the driver’s grip from it. In response, he threw up an arm and whacked her hand away. The girl shrieked upon contact, clutching her hand in shock. “What the hell?!” She shouted again, gazing at the driver in dismay, stunned by the force of his hit, and shaking out her bruised knuckles. Without waiting for a response, she began yanking on the door handle. When it didn’t budge, she looked frantically around for a lock but failed to find it. So she went for the window, ramming her elbow against the fortified glass, but letting out a hiss of pain as she accomplished only bruising her elbow as well.   
“I would stop that,” the driver finally spoke, in a cool, monotone voice. The girl spun around to glare at him. “Who are you?! Let me out of this damn car! I’ll fight you!” The driver seemed to find this threat rather amusing, his lips curled slightly but he remained silent, eyes on the highway he had just turned onto, clearly breaking the speed limit and seemingly not caring about it.   
“Where are we going?!” She snapped, growing increasingly angry, “I demand you let me out this instant!” She was met with silence, and an increased speed. “Why are we leaving the city? Who are you, who do you work for? This looks like a government car, why do you have it? Do you work for the government? I haven’t broken any laws, you have though, definitely. You’ve just broke about four different laws. Served any jail time? Probably. Unlock the goddamn doors you piece of shit! Let me out! Kidnapping is illegal!” Her demands and palaver only met silence in response. She let out a snarl of annoyance, turning and aiming a punch at the driver, but to the same effect, he threw up a hand and batted her arm away; it was like hitting a solid wall.   
“What the hell!” She moaned, wringing out her now severely bruised knuckles. “Are you made of metal or something?”   
No response, only an increase in miles per hour.   
“Why are you driving so fast? Are you trying to kill me?” She snarled, shooting a murderous glare at the driver who hadn’t even bothered to glance at his kidnapped target. She made him uneasy and he didn’t like it one bit.   
“Buckle in,” he said coolly, a threat lingering somewhere in his tone, the girl picked up on it immediately, narrowing her eyes at the driver, but complying nonetheless. The seat-belt clicked securely into place as the Mercedes turned onto a major highway, leading out of the city and into the suburbs.   
“Wait a minute-” she suddenly gasped, and her hands flew to unbuckle the seat belt, but to no avail; it had locked into place. “Shit!” She moaned and slouched back into the leather seat of the car, fiery attitude diffused, her fate apparently accepted.   
There was a half-hour of silence in the dark Mercedes. The driver focused on speeding down the highway, the girl in the passenger seat busy glaring out the tinted window. It was a while before she attempted to get some answers from her kidnapper.   
“Who are you?” She ventured in a calm, rational voice.   
Silence.   
“Alright, then. Do you know who I am?”   
“My mission,” came a blunt reply.   
“What does that mean?”   
“You’re the target.”   
“Target as in take out? Kill target? Why’d you kidnap me then?”   
“Different type of target.”   
“What the hell does that mean?”   
Silence.   
“Fine. Where are we going?”   
Silence.   
“Who do you work for?”   
Silence.   
“Can I turn the radio on?”   
Silence.   
“Are you kidding me, you kidnap me, blow up my school, probably killing everyone I know, force me into a suspiciously expensive Mercedes, drive like a goddamn maniac, and won’t even grant me the pleasure of listening to the new R.E.M. song?”   
A gloved finger flicked the car radio on and then returned to the wheel.   
“...Thanks… I guess….”   
There was a strained silence in the car as the tinny pop music floated out of the car speakers. The Mercedes, for all its high-tech had evidently not been designed to play music adequately.   
“Do you work for the government?” She questioned after a moment, eyeing the driver curiously. He barely appeared ten years older than her, and had this sort of blank, vague stare in his eyes that made the back of her mind queasy.   
No response.   
“Is this about that time I allegedly blew up a truck, because that was not me, I swear, it exploded by itself-”   
“Shut up or I’ll gag you.”   
“Wow. Real nice,” the girl grumbled but lapsed back into silence, turning to stare out the window at the passing scenery. It was becoming more and more rural as they headed out of the city.   
“Why are we heading north?” She demanded after ten minutes of silent driving.   
“Do you not understand a threat when you hear one?” The driver snapped, irritation coating his voice. The girl was infuriating, making his mission of extraction and delivery a thousand times harder by just speaking. Something about her voice seemed to ring through his mind, like warning bells, and make him falter, then question what he was doing. So it was best to just ignore her. He’d be free of her once he returned to headquarters.   
“Well, it seemed a bit of an empty threat,” she taunted, a smirk sliding onto her sharp face. “I mean, seeing as you’re driving and all, it doesn’t make logistical sense for you to be able to both drive and gag me….”   
The pressure on the gas was released and the car began to slow.   
“Okay, okay, okay, you don’t gotta stop, it’s fine, really, I’ll be quiet,” she hastily promised, and the car picked up speed again.   
An hour passed in silence, only the scratchy pop music emitting from the car speakers filling the void that encompassed the car. Until the girl dared venture another request.   
“Can we have a coffee break?”   
“No,” came the terse response.   
“Okay, but consider this: I have to fucking pee.” She glared across at the driver until the car began to slow, veering off the highway towards a rest station with a plethora of restaurants, cafès, and coffee shops. The Mercedes swung into the packed parking lot and cruised into an open spot near the entrance of the station.   
“Five minutes,” the driver turned the engine off and announced. “Do anything stupid, and you lose a limb.” At his words he reached into the compartment between the driver’s and passenger’s seat and drew out two twin pistols, each fully loaded. He hid them on his person instantly, then tapped a button on the dash. The girl’s seatbelt clicked as it unlocked, along with the hidden door locks.  
“I lose a limb, you pay for my coffee.”   
Four minutes and forty seconds later, the pair was strolling back across the lot towards the parked Mercedes. The girl holding a large iced coffee as if it was the Holy Grail, her companion eyeing her every movement like a predator waiting for his prey to flee.   
“Can you relax,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, evidently aware of his anxious stance. “I wouldn’t waste this fabulous iced coffee by ditching this little shindig-” she was interrupted by a shrill whistle, and glanced over her shoulder to find a middle-aged man in a tattered hoodie, dirty jeans, and a cigarette between his fingers looking her up and down and nodding to himself while he leaned on the handlebars of his battered Harley-Davidson motorcycle.  
“Looking sharp there babe, black suits you. Suits your little boyfriend there too. Lookin’ like Bonnie and Clyde or some shit. Say-”   
The man never had a chance to voice his opinion further. The girl had shifted her coffee to her left hand, then quietly snapped the fingers on her right. Suddenly, the fiery end of the man’s cigarette roared up into blistering orange and yellow flames, licking and biting at the man’s greasy fingers and eliciting high-pitched screaming from him as a reaction.   
The girl simply continued walking, whistling casually to herself as though she hadn’t just inflicted third degree burns onto a human being. Her kidnapper had paused, glanced at the man, who had turned and fled, before quickly following after the dark-haired girl. She had climbed into the SUV and discovered the GPS system installed above the car radio and facing the driver’s seat before he had the chance to even enter the Mercedes. A few innately skilled taps and she learned their destination.   
“Canada? Why are we going to Canada? What's in Canada, other than moose, maple syrup, and hockey? I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but… Wait, Canada’s not the U.S…. We’re crossing the border — why?”   
“Shut up,” came an angry snarl and suddenly she was staring down the barrel of a gleaming gun. “Don't ask any more questions.”   
“Fine,” she muttered, busying herself with taking a sip of her coffee, although not displaying any outward expression of fear at being mere inches away from a possible bullet in her brain.   
“Seatbelt on.”  
She obeyed wordlessly, swirling the ice in her drink and sulking out the window. Silence resumed in the interior of the Mercedes, but now the driver’s attitude towards his target had changed. His earlier slight confusion of why a mere teenage girl, albeit, an arrogant, annoying one, was his mission assignment had evaporated upon seeing what she had done to the man with the cigarette. Fire did not behave like that on its own. He didn’t know who the girl was, he didn’t even know her name, but she was dangerous. And if she was dangerous, she was valuable, which was probably why he had been assigned to bring her in in one piece. Her careless attitude towards being kidnapped and threatened was now explained, if she could manipulate the tiny spark of a cigarette with a snap of her fingers, he had the feeling that she was capable of much more. It definitely explained why she so blatantly did not seem to give a single damn about practically anything.  
“So what’s your name?” The girl popped the query after a while. The driver had a ghost of an impulse to roll his eyes; she still couldn’t learn to shut up.   
“Great, nice to meet you,” her wielding of sarcasm was expert when she did not receive an answer. “I know it’s winter, but you don't gotta match the weather. No need to be so goddamn cold about everything if we’re going to be stuck in this car for another four hours.” She merely rolled her eyes when silence greeted her. “Do you even know who I am?” She snapped irritably after a moment, glaring at the driver, her iced coffee half gone.   
The handheld radio docked on the Mercedes dashboard suddenly squawked to life. “Bellona Drager. Eighteen years old, senior. Only child of recently deceased Maria and James Dra-”   
“Recently deceased?” Her voice cracked as her eyes rounded at these words, a small tremor ran down her spine. “What do you mean, recently deceased? My parents aren’t dead!”   
“Now they are, Miss Drager,” the calm, reserved voice announced from the radio. She was staring at it in disbelief, first shocked that the voice had come from the radio, then flabbergasted at what the voice had informed her of.   
“No…. No, prove it!”   
There was a brief period of static from the handheld radio, before it went dead, and the car’s own radio flared to life, which had been playing pop music a few minutes ago, now tuned into a local news station.   
“-home invasion on Beacon Hill in Boston about an hour ago, lawyer James Drager and his wife Dr. Maria Drager found dead in their home, multiple signs of breaking and entering detected. Their daughter, Bellona, is believed to have perished in the explosion that rocked the nation’s oldest high school-” The radio then clicked off and Bellona Drager was left with a slack jaw and petrified eyes. Condensation from the coffee cup she was now clutching too tightly was wetting her palm, sending rivulets of water racing down to the fingertips of her left hand. What she failed to notice, however, was that these drops of water were melting into her pale skin, like a reverse evaporation reaction.  
“So you see, Miss Drager-” the drawling voice over the handheld radio suddenly screeched into silence. Bellona Drager had flung out her right palm, and an invisible wave of something shot out of her fingertips, impacting the radio on the dash directly, and destroying its electrical circuit. Silence filled the car as a small puff of steam was emitted from the ruined radio. It was fractured only by the girl’s sudden heavy breathing. Her bright blue eyes were bulging, her hands trembling as though the car’s temperature had plunged below freezing. Her beloved iced coffee had been haphazardly dropped into the cupholder adjacent to the passenger seat, forgotten. It was soon apparent that the temperature in the Mercedes was dropping dramatically. So quickly, in fact, that the windshield began to grow a thin coat of ice, the car walls and windows began to creak and groan, frost was conceived on the dashboard, and the mirrors began to freeze over, thin sheets of whiteness were creeping over them at an alarming rate, deteriorating the visibility of the highway.   
“What are you doing?” The driver demanded, the pressure on the gas decreasing due to the frost across the windshield as driving was quickly becoming dangerous.   
“I don’t know!” Bellona responded, voice rising with panic, her breathing rate was increasing with equal intensity as her heart rate, shock was beginning to overcome her. “I’m…. not doing it…. it’s just…. happening!”   
“Well make it stop!” The car veered off towards the side of the highway, to the honks and screech of brakes of irritated drivers behind the swerving black Mercedes. It finally jolted to a halt, half on the breakdown lane of the highway, half on the dirt ground beside the highway, a dense forest of pines creating a shadowy abyss just feet away.   
Bellona Drager dropped her head into her hands and cradled her temple, the baseball cap tumbled from her head and her long French braid swung forward over her shoulder. The driver ground the keys in the ignition, the frozen interior of the car upsetting the expensive Mercedes engine. He glanced over at the girl in the passenger seat and his sharp blue eyes widened. The tightly spun braid was rapidly unraveling itself of its own accord, and ice was beginning to grow and twirl its way around her waves of dark hair, like sleek silver snakes. The girl’s breathing was ragged and gasping as she slowly rocked herself back and forth. The driver sat motionless, staring silently at the girl. Something about her reaction struck against something in the far back of his mind, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, watching the ice ripple and sway through her black locks like writhing animals.   
Ice. Cold. Snow. Wind.   
The temperature continued to plummet, threadlike cracks were beginning to appear in the windshield, both passengers’ breaths were being emitted like small clouds of steam, frost was beginning to form along the dashboard, over the ruins of the radio which had delivered the news, over the steering wheel and the fine leather seats. After a moment, the driver was spurred into action. He tore his fascinated eyes away from the girl and reached into the compartment next to his seat which formerly held two semi-automatic pistols. He snatched out a small metal box, flung it open and pulled out a heavy needle, pre-filled with a fast-acting sedative. He flicked off the sealed end, reached out and pulled the girl up, forcing her shoulders back against the seat. Her eyes were squeezed shut, he had to tear one of her hands away from her head to plunge the needle into the bare, exposed skin of her neck. At this, the girl’s eyes snapped wide open, her hands dropped into her lap, her muscles tensed, before relaxing as her eyelids drooped to a close and she slumped back into the seat, unconscious.   
It was several moments before the car began to defrost. The driver watched warily as the interior of the Mercedes began to slowly warm. The accumulated frost melted away, evaporating into the air, streams of water ran down the windshield and the other windows, dripping down the sides of the car. The cold and ice seemed to be sucked inwards, towards the girl, like a controlled implosion. He watched as white, icy air swirled around the girl’s hair, clinging to her locks like dew to leaves on a misty morning. It was the most captivating thing he had ever seen. His mind was blank, as white as the air around the girl as he stared at her.   
Ice. Cold. Snow. Wind.   
He blinked furiously, the cold was still haunting a distant place in the back of his mind. As he stared at the girl, he felt like he was approaching it…. But then it vanished. Gone. Into the abyss of darkness, a ghost out of reach.   
He shook his head and glanced away. The car was now completely operational, so he jammed the keys into the ignition and fired it up. The engine coughed hoarsely before roaring to life. The only remnants of the miniaturized blizzard that had occurred were the cracks running up and down the windshield, and the swirl of icy air that still hovered about the girl’s loose hair. He briefly pondered why it wasn’t disappearing, before revving the engine and pulling the car back onto the road, continuing the journey to the Canadian border.   
Bellona Drager fumbled into a weak wakefulness an hour later. Her eyes opened blearily, they flicked around the car, observing her surroundings. She seemed to notice the accumulation of icy air and suspended snow dancing around her hair, so with trembling hands, she reached up and began to braid her hair. With every strand of hair pulled over another strand, the white ice vanished, being sucked into the tightly woven braid like it was a gaping black hole of raven tresses. Once she finished, the white and ice had completely disappeared and the long braid revealed no sign of the icy power contained inside of it. Her hands dropped back into her lap and her eyelids slackened to a close, the sedative still circulating its way around her bloodstream and exhibiting effects, which, once the icy coldness had been vanquished, conquered her consciousness once more.


	3. June 22, 1991

“Great company you keep.”  
Seventeen-year old Bellona Drager jumped to her feet at the sudden appearance of the sarcastic voice, stumbled in her three inch heels, and keeled heavily back down into the cushioned armchair that sat in a quiet side room outside of the main function hall, where the babble of voices and clink of glasses could be heard.   
“Damn you,” she muttered, her long French braid shivered as she shook her head while shooting a glare at twenty-one year old Tony Stark. He was smirking down at her, having slipped out of the very same hall she had just escaped. The younger girl was alone in the room, staring off vacantly into space, a ponderous expression making her bright blue eyes look mysteriously intrigued. The folds of her white dress were like the purest snow as she casually reclined against the tan-colored armchair. The color of her dress made her appear like some youthful, Grecian maiden who would rather be running along the seashore than stuck in a stifling professional function.  
“Father starting giving a speech,” Tony explained his absence from the main hall as he dropped into the armchair beside her and stretched out his legs. His crisp tailored black suit contrasted against the other’s white dress, giving the two a grave, solemn aura. “And it looked like it was going to be a long, boring, winding one.”  
Bellona’s laugh was mocking. “You mean: you saw me leave ten minutes ago and then waited until it wasn’t suspicious to follow me.”  
“No, it was definitely the speech-”  
“You were mad that I wouldn’t have to sit in that room while you did.”  
“Okay, you know what, maybe that is why I left,” he tilted his head back against the top of the cushioned armchair and sighed heavily. “But dad’s speeches can be horrid. Do you even know what this event is for?”  
Bellona shrugged, a fluid movement of her bare shoulders. “Annual function in memory of one of my mother’s interns that died on a dig. The funds raised go to a scholarship in his name, the Isaac Tamara Scholarship for Excellence in…. Something…. Your father was invited to be guest speaker.”  
“Oh was he? That’s why I had to come,” Tony closed his eyes and grumbled under his breath for a moment.  
“You’re ruining my solitude,” Bellona informed him teasingly, a wide grin on her face when Tony snapped his eyes open and shot her a look.  
“Bella, we do this exact same thing at every event we both happen to be at, and you say that exact same thing, every time.”  
“Because it’s true,” she raised an eyebrow, “you do ruin my solitude at every event we’re at.”  
“I’m keeping you company so the daughter of the woman who’s running this doesn’t look like some loser by herself.”  
“No, you follow me because I’m the best at finding the quiet rooms,” she leaned over towards the fancy glass table in between their two armchairs and grabbed a few pieces of assorted candies from the decorative bowl on it. “And I know where the candy is.” She tossed a wrapped piece of candy at him and he swiped it from the air immediately.  
“Your two sole talents,” he joked, popping the candy into his mouth while Bellona snorted and rolled her eyes at his jest. “Oh, let’s not forget the eye-rolling too. You could win contests rolling those unnecessarily-blue eyes.”  
“Shut up, Tony,” she sent him another eyeroll for the hell of it.  
“Are you coming to my party next weekend?” Tony switched the subject, tilting his head on the back of the chair and glancing at the girl beside him.  
Bellona made a disgusted face, kicking her legs up and settling them over the arm of her chair. She smoothed the folds of her white dress over her knees and crossed her ankles, her dark blue heels accentuating her calf muscles. “Depends on how much alcohol is going to be there.”  
Tony rolled his eyes, “c’mon, Bella, be fun for once-”  
“Oh don’t get me wrong, Tony, I’m very fun to be around. I just don’t find your friends puking on me while they try to flirt with me very fun, neither is having to clean up a dozen people’s vomit off a thousand dollar rug before your parents noticed.”  
“Okay, first of all,” Tony had sat up straight to defend himself, “that was because it was tequila mixed with vodka — I think, and you wouldn’t have thought or had to do any of that if you didn’t want to be boring that night and not drink.”  
“You were all already drunk by the time I got there,” she argued, her voice still light and airy as she held the upper hand.   
“Then don’t be late this time,” he shot back. “And have a damn drink. It’s not as bad as you make it out to be.”  
“Who’s gonna clean the carpet this time?”  
“I don’t know, Jarvis? How did you even clean that last time?”  
“You don’t want to know,” she shook her head slightly, a grim look on her face.  
“So, you coming?”  
“Who’s gonna be there?”  
“Fun people. I’ll get some of my better looking friends to come, if that’s an incentive for you. You know Jason is still totally obsessed with you-”  
She closed her eyes and let out a hearty laugh. “That’s why you want me to come? I specifically remember him throwing up your tequila-vodka mix all over me — right after he asked me if I wanted to hookup.”  
“And did you?”  
“I have standards, Tony. I don’t hookup with guys who release the contents of their stomach on me.”  
“Well just come and maybe pay attention to him for five minutes, I’m getting tired of him asking questions about you. ‘Does Bellona have a boyfriend? Is Bellona coming to your party? I’ll go if Bellona’s going’ — it’s driving me insane!”  
All this seemed to be incredibly amusing to blue-eyed girl. “What day is it?”  
“Friday.”  
“I have a date that night.”  
Tony almost choked on the candy he had just popped into his mouth. “What— you have a what?”  
“A date.”  
“Like, a real date with a real boy? This isn't one of your overused jokes where you have a date with whatever-sport’s-season-it-is practice, right?”  
Bellona rolled her eyes again, “no, Tony, it's a real date with a real boy.”  
“You’re joking right?” He seemed flabbergasted. “I thought after um, the last one, you’d not bother for a while….”  
“We both know what was wrong with the last one. And I don't exist just to hookup with your friends so they’ll shut up.”  
Tony lapsed into a silence for a moment before nodding, mostly to himself. “Yeah, you know what, Jason is a complete dumbass, total shithead really. You ought not to even waste your breath talking to him. I had to tell him you were my sister because he kept asking if we went out. He believed it too.”  
“They always do,” Bellona snickered softly. The two were not strangers to pretending to be siblings, and had done so on multiple occasions for years. Once they'd reached a certain age, people began to doubt if the two childhood friends were still “just friends.” So they'd taken to referring to each other as “my brother, Tony” or “my sister, Bella”, since to them if felt like it had always been that way anyway.  
“Ahem,” Tony coughed awkwardly, “so?”  
Bellona's eyebrows furrowed, “so….?”  
It was Tony rolled his eyes this time. “So — what's his name? Who is he? How long have you gone out with him?”  
“Oh,” Bellona seemed a bit flustered by this sudden onslaught of questions. “His name’s Jack, he's captain of the hockey team and the baseball team, we’ve been going out since prom last month.”   
“Since prom and you're only telling me now? What if it turned out like last time again?”  
Bellona shrugged, “you haven't been around, and I've been busy with school. College stuff, you know. Junior year was hell. And it's not going to turn out like last time, trust me.”  
“Last time you asked me to trust you, you had been-”  
“Tony,” she closed her eyes and threw her head back on the arm of the chair, her long braid trailing down towards the plush carpet on the floor. “I don't want to be reminded of it right now. If you want you can scope him out, find out everything there is to know about him. I'm sure you'll be satisfied with what you find.”  
“That remains to be seen,” he replied firmly, “but bring him to the party.”


	4. December 29, 2012

“You know her?”   
Tony Stark whirled around at the sudden voice, jostled from his thoughts. Steve Rogers had entered the isolated room off one of the main crossroads in the SHIELD facility and found Tony alone, deep in thought. They and the other Avengers had just brought Bellona Drager back from Siberia, and upon arriving at SHIELD, she'd been placed in an intensive care unit because she had yet to regain consciousness from fainting on the helicopter ride back.  
“Yup,” Tony said with false optimism. “Or at least I thought I did.”   
“She's still the same person, Tony,” Steve said, taking a few steps towards him and giving him a sympathetic look.   
“She didn't even know who I was. I've known her since she was born. She was like my little sister….”  
“Maybe she'll remember,” Steve’s smile was grim. “At least she's alive.”  
“At least. Ha,” Tony’s voice came near to cracking, “we don't even know what Hydra did to her.”  
“That's what Nick’s working on now, I'm sure,” Steve reassured him. “You don't happen to know why Hydra would be so interested in her, would you?”  
Tony shrugged, turning away from Captain America and staring out the clear glass windows down at the city below. “Bella had a lot of talents. Everything she did, she did well. We used to joke that her touch was lethal, because everything she touched was changed, in some way. Nothing was ever hard for her, but she wanted things to be, so she made them hard. As a result she ended up being the best at anything she cared enough about. She was always looking for perfection, perfect people, perfect moments, perfect results…. She would have loved you, with your whole living legend thing.... She always had this… Aura of mystery around her, she was anything but ordinary, but I still don't see why Hydra would be after her…. But why do you care?”  
Steve Rogers shrugged, “we’re a team remember? If she means a lot to you then she means a lot to me. Besides, she reminds me of-”  
The glass door to the room suddenly swung open again and the two turned to find Natasha Romanoff striding into the room. She stopped right before them and glanced between them both, then said, out of breath: “I just scoured SHIELD’s database for anything on Bellona Drager, only her obituary came up, along with any data we had on her before her alleged death. There's nothing after. No sightings, no mentions, no connections. The world is convinced she's dead.”  
“Hydra hides its assets well,” Steve murmured softly.   
“But what I really came to tell you two is that Fury’s up to something that neither of you are like to approve of, concerning Bellona.”  
“What?” Tony and Steve demanded simultaneously, snapping to attention.  
“I don’t know what, he wouldn’t quite tell me.”

“What are you doing to her?” Tony Stark snapped irritably, striding into the small viewing room adjacent to the hospital operating room at the SHIELD facility.  
“You two aren't supposed to be here,” Nick Fury stated monotonously, barely glancing away from the clear glass windows that revealed the operating room.   
“Which means you're likely up to something questionable,” Steve said bluntly. “What are you doing?”  
“I'm not doing anything. This was a collective decision by SHIELD.”  
“What, to subject her to more torture?” Tony clenched his teeth as he glared through the windows into the room where about a dozen people in lab coats and masks were rushing about a room, taking samples, running tests, and doing who-knows-what to an unconscious Bellona Drager.   
“They're not torturing her, Stark,” Fury dismissed his anger with a wave of a hand. “Just running some necessary tests.”  
“Like what?”  
“Like finding out why she had multiple gunshot wounds that hadn’t healed before she entered cryo. And figuring out what Hydra did to her.”  
There was a silence in the room at this, because no one knew what Hydra had done to Bellona Drager, who looked young enough to be anywhere between eighteen and twenty-eight. By Tony’s estimate, she should have turned thirty-nine last month.   
“I can't watch this,” Steve muttered after a moment, turning away from the windows and stalking out of the room. Tony went to follow his lead but paused and stared back at Nick Fury. “You’re telling me what you find.”  
“We will,” Fury confirmed.   
“All of it.”  
“That remains to be seen.”


	5. December 2, 1991

“Mission report, Soldier.”   
The Soldier was silent, staring with wide eyes and a baffled expression as men dressed in protective suits loaded the girl onto a stretcher and wheeled her away.   
“Soldier-”   
“Who is she?” The question was barely above a whisper.   
“Bellona Drager.” Came the blunt response.   
“I don’t care about her name — who is she?”   
There was a brief silence, then: “your new trainee.”


	6. December 1, 1989

Sixteen-year old Bellona Drager stalked out the side door of her high school and into the crisp, late Autumn air. December had been nipping at November’s heels for weeks, hurrying the gloomy month along so Old Man Winter could now take its place on the calendar. There was a biting chill in the air, but it didn't seem to bother the teenager, who wore only jeans and thick sweatshirt displaying her support of the Boston Bruins. She didn't mind the cold, in fact, she relished in it. It made her blood run quick and her head feel clear; it made her feel alive.   
She tossed her loose dark hair over her shoulder and popped a large pair of sunglasses on, they were far too big for her face and made her look like some sort of hybrid mosquito. She headed towards the shiny new jeep parked in front of the coffee shop across the street from the school. The jeep was gleaming black and huge, it was able to seat five people and had an extensive trunk, giving it plenty of storage room. Its tires were lifted, giving the driver the ability to see over most other cars on the road. If you went to look for the make and company, you wouldn't find it. It had been custom designed and privately built. It had to cost half a fortune.   
Bellona Drager jogged across the street, her backpack rising and falling with every step she took. She approached the driver’s side and rapped her knuckles against the window. The driver glanced up, hit a button, and the window smoothly rolled down.   
“Are you gonna stand in the street all day or are you getting in?” Tony Stark asked Bellona Drager sarcastically, greeting her with a grin.   
“I thought I was supposed to drive,” she shot back, crossing her arms with playful anger. “It's my car, who let you drive it here?”  
“Your mother did, because she doesn't trust you driving it yet.”  
“But she trusts you?” Her voice was full of incredulity.   
“Of course,” Tony smirked arrogantly, “now let's go, I gotta teach some nerd how to drive.”  
“I'm getting coffee first,” she declared, swinging her bag over her shoulder and digging out a small wallet. “Make yourself useful, and put this in there.” She shoved her backpack through the window at him. He caught it with an irritated noise and tossed it into the backseat of the jeep.   
“Hurry up,” he groaned as she shot him a smirk then darted off, heading towards the cafè.   
She returned a few minutes later, tugged open the passenger door and hopped in, handing Tony a coffee.   
“I don't understand why you drink iced coffee when it's cold out,” he remarked, taking a sip from the cup she handed him. They always knew the other’s order and had stopped asking if the other wanted coffee whenever they went to get it.   
“It's good,” she replied simply, strapping her seatbelt on and settling into the leather passenger seat. She loved her car, it being a joint birthday present from the Stark family and designed by Tony, who had taken the task upon himself with such an aggressive fervor that he had pushed the limits of vehicular technology further than any major car company had dared to do.  
“What's with the sunglasses?” Tony asked as he pulled the car out of the spot and down the street. The jeep drove smoothly, it's powerful engine a low growl as they maneuvered through the crowded Boston streets.   
“It's sunny out,” she said casually, swirling the ice in her coffee   
“Barely,” Tony snorted, glancing up at the accumulating gray clouds in the chilly December sky. “I heard you’re not having a sweet sixteen party. Why not?”  
“My birthday was on Thanksgiving,” Bellona snickered, “what party can outdo a national holiday?”  
“You've wanted to have sweet sixteen party since you were twelve.”  
“Okay.”  
“So…. Why not?  
“Didn't feel like it, I suppose.”  
“Did you even do anything for it?”  
“I went to the Bruins game on the Friday with some friends. I didn't want to do anything too excessive, the hockey season just started you know.”  
“Is that why you didn't come to my party on Saturday?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Lame. You take sports too seriously, Bella. How many girls even showed up to hockey tryouts? Four?”  
“We got 2 new girls, freshmen,” she ground her teeth in irritation, “so there are ten of us now, excuse yourself.”  
“Ten. Wow.” His voice was mocking. “And I'm guessing you don't have practice today because-”  
“The boys have the ice and we don't, yes, that's why!” Bellona spat angrily.   
“Relax, Princess,” Tony laughed, coming to a stop at a red light. “Why don't you have your parents just build you a rink somewhere?”  
“I want them too!” Bellona groaned, “I even picked out the spot for it, and dad looked into it but there was a mess of legal complications surrounding the property rights of the area that he said wouldn't be worth it when we could just rent out ice from one of the colleges.”  
“Then why don't you do that?”  
“The only available times they have are at nine in the morning or one in the afternoon. We’re in school then.”  
“Sucks,” Tony whistled grimly.   
Bellona shot him a hard look. “I don't know why I talk to you about things like this, you don't actually care.”  
“You're right,” he chortled, “now where do you want to go to drive?”  
“I don't know, find a parking lot somewhere, I wanna practice doing donuts in this monster.”  
“Bella….” Tony sighed with the impatience of an elder listening to the wiles of an ignorant youth. “You know what… Fine, it’s your car, and I custom-designed it just so you could ruin it doing donuts in a parking lot. You can't even do donuts with this-”  
“Shut up and get us there.”  
Fifteen minutes later Tony Stark pulled the heavy black jeep into an empty parking lot in one of the outlying neighborhoods of Boston and cruised it to a stop, putting it in park.   
“Ready?”   
Bellona stuck her empty coffee cup into one of the cup holders in between the seats and whipped off her seatbelt. “Give me the wheel.” She flung open the door and stalked around the front of the car, Tony giving her a smirk as he passed by her. She settled into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirrors to her height.   
“You screwed up my mirrors,” she grumbled as Tony took her place in the passenger seat.   
“I'm not sorry you're so short,” he shot back, kicking his feet up on the dashboard.   
“Take your feet off my car’s dashboard or I'll have them chopped off.”  
“Take it easy with the threats, Bella,” he nevertheless complied with her demand and removed his feet.   
Bellona put the car back in drive and pressed the gas, with hesitation at first, then with more confidence, and the car picked up speed.   
“Oh my God,” Tony groaned after ten minutes of her careful driving around the lot. “You're the worst. And by worst I mean too good. Too careful. Do something dangerous so I have to tell your parents to keep you off the road, then I get to drive this jeep until they feel confident to let you have it again.”  
“You just wanna drive my car!” She scolded him, screeching the jeep to a halt.  
“That's not how you stop, and yeah I do, I designed it you know.”  
“I know, but now it's mine.”  
“Because of my good will. And ingenious talent with cars. Did you know I've installed a state-of-the-art GPS system in here? Along with-”  
“It's mine.”  
“You're welcome.”   
She stepped on the gas again and the black jeep hummed forwards. “I drive better without you saying bullshit.”  
“Good, you have to learn to drive with people blabbering bull — truck!” He yelled, and instinctively reached a hand across to jerk the wheel to the left. A truck transporting gasoline had zipped into the lot, using it as a shortcut to the highway on the opposite side. It had approached from behind, directly in the driver's blind spot. But Bellona had already turned the wheel the other way, avoiding the truck, and Tony’s hand grabbed at her lower forearm, just above her right wrist. He was expecting her to scream when he yelled or when she spotted the truck barreling down behind them, but not when he grabbed her arm. She let out a sharp hiss, as if of pain, and pulled her right hand off the wheel, letting it flop down into her lap as though his light touch had broken her wrist. Tony gazed at her in confusion, she was still wearing her sunglasses, and that annoyed him because instead of being able to see the look in her eyes, he only saw his perplexed expression staring back at him.   
Bellona ignored his inquisitive glance, continuing to randomly drive the jeep around the lot, getting to know the proclivities of the car.   
“Bella, stop the jeep,” Tony said after a few minutes, his voice was cool and unsuspecting.   
“Why?”  
“Just do it.”  
Muttering to herself, she slowed and pulled the jeep to a halt, putting it in park. Then she turned to Tony beside her. “What-”  
Without speaking, without hinting at his intention, he snatched the arm limp in her lap by the elbow and pushed up the baggy sleeve of her sweatshirt.   
Her arm was a collage of black and blue and purple. Ugly bruises outlined the shape of a human hand on her pale skin, making it look as though an invisible demon was clutching at her. Tony stared down at her arm quietly, then released her elbow, and she snatched her arm back immediately, avoiding his eyes.   
“Bella….”  
“I fell at hockey practice.”  
“That's a lie and you know it.”  
“I fell down the stairs-”  
“Take off your sunglasses.”  
“What, why, what's that got to do with anything?”  
“Bella.”  
Bellona Drager let out a long, heavy sigh, and reached up with her unbruised left hand to remove her sunglasses. Then she glanced shyly over at Tony Stark who sucked in his next breath upon seeing her face. Her left eye, though covered with enough concealer and makeup to hide it from a casual glance, still boasted a menacing bruise to someone who knew what he was looking for.   
“Your parents don't know, do they.”  
“No,” she murmured, returning the sunglasses to their place on her nose. “Do not tell them!”  
“What happened?”  
“I don't wanna talk about it.”  
“Bella-”  
“I guess it was an accident, okay-”  
“No one punches someone in the face by accident!”  
“I… He… I don't know….”  
“He?” Tony hadn't missed the one syllable letter. “Who’s he?”  
Bellona was silent for a long moment, sitting quietly in the driver's seat, her left hand resting lightly on the top of the wheel. “David.”  
Tony Stark was stunned. David Campbelle had been Bellona’s boyfriend since April, the two had never had a fight come between them. Why things had come to physical blows now was beyond him.  
“How did it happen?”  
“Well… I told him I wanted to break up with him-”  
“You did? Why?”  
“Because he cheated on me!”  
Tony let out a low, drawn out whistle but remained silent.  
“And he got all mad about it, said I had no real reason, that he hadn't cheated, you know, the usual bullshit guys say to get the girl to stay. I wasn't taking any of it, so he got pissed. Said I was a cold-hearted bitch and all. Which, I mean, he’s not exactly wrong about that part. That's when I turned to leave and he grabbed my arm. I got mad and tried to shake him off, so he… swung at me….”  
“Did you get a punch back in?”  
“No,” she murmured, “I just wanted to leave so I did.”  
“When was this?”  
“Yesterday. He came to pick me up from practice even though I told him not to. He left once Annie came out of the rink. She wasn't going to say anything because she was the one he cheated on me with. Then I walked home.”  
“I thought Annie was your best friend.”  
“She was a friend. Not anymore. They both got roaringly drunk at the football game before Thanksgiving, later I saw them hooking up in Annie’s car.”  
“Holy shit,” Tony muttered, shaking his head at the incredible drama Bella had just explained to him, realizing that must have been why she was avoiding any social events. “Have you talked to him since?”  
“He tried calling me this morning,” Bellona sighed, drumming her fingers against the wheel. “I didn't answer.”   
Tony gave her a nervous look. “Bella-”  
“Don't worry, Tony,” she interrupted him resolutely, “I can handle him. Trust me.”


	7. December 3, 1991

The girl awoke to murmurings around her. She opened her eyes and felt her stomach tie itself in knots. She was lying on an uncomfortable operating table in a whitewashed room, men in lab coats and surgical masks were milling about her. She was strapped down and from her elbow to her fingers of both arms were so numb, they felt non-existent.   
“What the hell,” she grumbled, attempting to twist herself out of her bindings.   
Someone muttered something somewhere, and she jerked her head in that direction, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on around her. She came face to face with a tall man, in a lab coat matching the others around him. His face was hidden entirely by doctor’s mask. Only his eyes, a clear shade of blue, were visible.   
“Good morning, Miss Drager,” the man greeted her with a laudable fabrication of welcome. It was not the same voice that had spoken to her over the radio, this one was much deeper, commanding perfect, accent-less English.   
“Who are you?” She snapped, straining against the bindings to no avail.   
“Ah, but that is irrelevant. What everybody is more concerned about is: who are you.”   
“You know who I am,” she hissed, “Bellona Drager. You know my whole life story, and you killed my parents. Why!?”   
“Let's not get caught up in the minor details now, Miss Drager,” the man said in a smooth, calming voice that had quite the opposite effect.   
“How is killing my parents a minor detail!?”   
“Shh, calm yourself, Miss Drager,” the man stretched out a gloved hand and picked up her long braid. He studied it, turning it over in his palms. “Curious… You're quite aware of the extent of your powers, I believe, Miss Drager. But you lack control over them. This is a pity, there is so much one with your capabilities could do in this world.”   
“How do you know about that?” She snarled, trying to yank her braid out of his hand by jerking her head in the opposite direction.   
“Miss Drager, you exploded a gasoline truck when you were nine years old,” the man stated monotonously. “James Drager may have been a brilliant and resourceful lawyer to convince the jury to disbelieve the witnesses’ testimonies but do not make the mistake of believing Hydra did not know what truly happened.”   
“Hydra?” She demanded, “what is that? Some sort of secret organization funded by the government?”   
The man chuckled and moved around the table so he was now on her left. She turned her head to keep him in her line of vision, watching him closely as he strolled down alongside the table. She sucked in an astonished breath when the man carefully lifted her left arm from the operating table, because she had absolutely no feeling in her arm at all. Nothing. Her brain was in a loop, she could not feel her arm, but she could see her arm. It was there before her, grasped by the man’s gloved hand. Three different needles attached to tubes running off the table had been inserted into her forearm. But what was on her wrist was what horrified her the most.   
There, surrounded by burned and puckered skin, was a glaring red head, a hydra, she recognized the mythical beast immediately, branded onto her skin like a poorly done tattoo, or a farmer’s mark on his choice cattle.   
“This,” the man said, running a gloved finger over the stark brand in an almost loving manner, “is Hydra.”


	8. December 30, 2012

She awoke and immediately let out a pained groan. Waking up was like being hit by a fully-loaded tractor-trailer, then getting run over by the ambulance.  
“What the hell,” she breathed, struggling to sit up. She was in some sort of hospital bed, in a closed room, medical instruments and an IV drip beside her. The IV was slowly dribbling a substance into her bloodstream, and the sight of it caused panic bells to ring through her mind. She reached up to shut the IV off, but was distracted by the sight of her right arm. The chainmail had been removed and had been placed on the small table next to the bed, and her lower forearm was covered in heavy bandages; she couldn’t feel the pain, but knew it was simmering somewhere, behind all the drugs that were being pumped into her body.  
“I wouldn’t shut that off, if I were you,” the voice came from across the room. She jerked her head over, falling back against the pillow to eye whoever was in the room. Her eyes fell upon an intimidating looking man with chocolate skin, a bald head, black eyepatch like he was some sort of aged, Caribbean pirate, and a heavy leather trench coat that concealed at least two weapons. He was reclining in a chair across from the bed she lay in, watching her curiously. “This ain't one of those Hollywood movies where the hero wakes up in a hospital bed and proceeds to yank out all the IV’s in their arms. That's how you die.”  
“I doubt I would,” she grunted, turning to glare at the IV needles that penetrated her left arm just below the elbow. “What did you do to my arm?” She demanded, her gaze drifting back to her right forearm.  
“Made some adjustments,” he replied calmly.  
Her laugh was chilled and mocking. “Right, adjustments.”  
He leaned forward in his cushioned chair, evidently displeased with the tone of her voice. “Look, I don’t know who you are, only that your name is Bellona Drager; when SHIELD sent the Avengers to that Hydra facility in Siberia, we had no idea they’d stumble upon someone who’s supposed to have died over twenty years ago, but you sit here today, branded by Hydra and the Soviets. Our test results revealed that every cell in your body has an abnormal genetic code. In fact, your DNA is shitshow. They claimed super-soldier serum might’ve been used on you, but I've met super-soldiers and you don't look like a goddamn super-soldier in my opinion. Now I don't care if Mr. Stark claims you were his childhood best friend, or if your parents names command national respect. You either tell me what Hydra did to you, or I'll have you put back in cryo.”  
She stared at him with icy blue eyes. While she disliked the lack of empathy in his voice, she appreciated his brutal honesty. “Who’s behind the mirror?” Her voice was cool and casual, as though she had asked him what time it was, but mirrors in hospitals do not exist to let the patient know how horrid they look. They exist to hide things.  
Nick Fury’s expression remained steady, though she could sense his unease at her question. “Those who rescued you from the Hydra facility.”  
“And who are they?”  
“Tony Stark, Captain America, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Thor.”  
“Who is ‘Captain America’?”  
“Steve Rogers.”  
“I see. And who are you?”  
“Nick Fury.”  
“I don’t care about your name — who are you?”  
He gave her a hard look. “Director of SHIELD.”  
“What is ‘SHIELD’?”  
“It’s your turn to answer questions. What did Hydra-”  
“I don’t know, exactly,” she snapped in annoyance, “it’s not as though they read out a report of everything they did. Experiments, torture, brainwashing. Ever been brainwashed, Director Fury? It has the strange tendency to make you forget things. So excuse me if I don’t recall everything.”  
She identified the disappointment in Fury’s eyes, as though she had failed to answer a question that was eating away at him.   
“What did Hydra want with you? You were only eighteen when they kidnapped you.”  
She shrugged, exhaustion was making her body ache and groan, the drugs flowing through her bloodstream weren’t helping. Her head was pounding, threatening to split open. Memories were only quick glimpses and rapid flashes. Blue eyes. Silver metal. Blood. Gunfire. A red star. Firestorms. Grenades. Sniper rifles. Black masks. Screaming.  
Nick Fury had ventured the next question, except it was the same question, only phrased differently. Bellona Drager ignored him. Instead she turned to her bandaged right arm, and unwound the wrappings in a heartbeat. She stared down at her forearm, and her jaw locked; her eyes hardened. Surrounded by bright red, inflamed skin, was the American star; beside it, an eagle symbol, the same symbol that was on Fury’s jacket. Both were branded into her skin with as much possessive fervor as her left arm had been.  
“That,” the Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division said, seeing her horrified look, “is SHIELD.”


	9. December 7, 1991

There are different types of exhaustion. Physical exhaustion, cured by rest and sleep. Then there is mental exhaustion, when your mind is sluggish and indolent, you feel physically exhausted but also lack a spark of life in your mind that can usually enable you to push through tired muscles.  
She felt beyond mentally exhausted when her brain decided to click into consciousness. Her eyelids raw and grainy against her eyes, she barely had the strength to open them. Somewhere, there were faint mutterings around her, mutterings in a foreign language, piercing through her ears and drilling into her very brain. Her head was pounding, every cell in her brain feeling as though it were expanding, pushing against the insides of her skull, which was throbbing and screeching in her inner ears. She groaned, attempting to reach a hand up to massage her bursting temple, but found herself unable to move any of her limbs. So, with a herculean effort, she forced her eyelids open; her vision was blurry for a moment before several sluggish blinks cleared it, and she found herself staring up at a blank white ceiling with monochrome lights glaring down at her. As she gazed into the blinding lights, her mind was blank, overcome with pain. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know what was going on around her, she didn’t know what had happened, she didn’t know….  
She felt her facial muscles move into a frown — what was happening? Her mind felt like it was imploding in on itself as she tried to force her neurons to fire and her brain cells to think.  
“Good morning, Bellona.” She flicked her eyes to her left, where a man was standing above her, dressed in military garb, a semi-automatic pistol was at his waist, a red star on his left breast. He was staring down at her, looking extremely pleased. She blinked in confusion — was it morning? Bellona…. Who was that? Was that her? Was he talking to her? He had to be, he was looking right at her. He looked…. She couldn’t think of the word…. Foreign? Not… From where she was from…. That country she was from…. Where was she born? Where had she been raised? Why couldn’t she think?!  
Her head was drumming with pain-induced rhythms. The man was still standing above her, talking…. Maybe to her…. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t make sense of the sounds he was producing… It seemed like he was speaking…. Another language….  
And then something clicked. A small explosion in the middle of her brain, and suddenly his words were crystal clear, but they weren’t in a familiar language, something in her mind was questioning why she could even understand what he was saying. As far as she knew, she didn’t speak…. Russian….  
Other men appeared, the one who had addressed her was barking snappy orders at them, and they flocked around her. She heard switches being turned on — or off. Clasps being undone, snapping, clicking, and creaking. Next thing she knew, she was free to sit up, so she did so immediately. The action made her brain swirl with a sudden influx of vertigo; she grabbed her head instinctively, sucking in a sharp breath. When her hand came in contact with her temple, she felt hard, rough metal impact her forehead. She flinched, pulled her hand away from her head and stared at it. Both arms, from fingertip to just beneath her elbow, were covered in finely spun chainmail-like metal. Almost like snake’s skin, it danced and writhed over her flesh, gleaming in the stark overhead lights. Her movements were not hindered, and she frowned down at it, wondering what the point of it was, until something in the back of her mind cried out in pain and desperation, the metal was inhibiting something, but her consciousness didn’t know what.


	10. December 30, 2012

“She's dangerous.”  
“We’re all dangerous!”  
“She's unstable. We don't know what she's capable of, she has yet to demonstrate any signs of enhanced powers, but believe me, she has them.”  
“That doesn't mean anything! She's been controlled by Hydra for years, they kidnapped her for Christ’s sake! Do you really think she wanted to follow Hydra?”  
“And was the branding really necessary?”  
“That was not my order. It came from a higher level.”  
“Whose level?”  
“I'm not authorized to inform you. I am authorized, however, to inform you that she'll be put back in cryo-”  
“No! She will not be. You will not be doing that. No one will be doing that.”  
“Stark-”  
“Fury, she's practically family.”  
“So?”  
“So?! So-”  
“Tony, calm down. Nick, she’s just a kid.”  
“She's 39, Captain.”  
“Well... she doesn't look her age.”  
“Neither do you, soldier. Side effects of the serum, and being frozen for years. No aging. Now, tell me, since you two seem to think you know everything — what would Hydra want with a girl who’s barely over five feet after being injected with super soldier serum?”


	11. December 7, 1991

His first thought upon seeing his new trainee was that she was tiny. Notably short, he had to have a foot of height over her. This made him think she’d be difficult to train, despite her athletic, lithe frame. He thought she looked vaguely familiar, but couldn’t quite place her. Her face was grimly pale, her eyes blank and deadened. She looked somewhat confused, and the chain link metal on her forearms seemed to be irritating her, although the empty look about her made it hard to discern what she really thought. The moment her eyes met his, he watched them widen, and suddenly it was like gears were clicking into place in the back of their minds, until they reached a point where they were in sync with the expression in his own eyes, like puzzles pieces snapping together obediently.   
He spent ten minutes explaining in monotone the role weight, force, and power played in hand-to-hand combat. The entire time she simply stared up at him with huge docile blue eyes.   
One of the guards had been volunteered to assist with the training session and it was on him that he demonstrated certain strategies for taking down an armed opponent. She merely stood and watched, studying every move, every pause, every moment with brilliant blue eyes that kept clicking in his mind whenever he looked into them.  
It wasn’t until later, when he was running through the proper ways to wield a knife, that she laughed. It was while he was simulating a mock fight between him and the guard; he kicked the guard to the ground and held the knife to his throat with one hand, his other, metal one holding the guard pinned on the ground. He didn’t know why she laughed, maybe it was because he had the guard completely at his mercy, but pulled back, as it was all just a training exercise. But her laugh… it sounded like dozens of bells, pouring into his mind like cold, crisp water, pealing through his head and making him pause enough that his grip slackened on the knife and it clattered downwards, narrowly missing the guard on the ground. He had turned and stared at her, his trainee. She was watching him with electrifying blue eyes that were buzzing with feeling, as though suddenly everything seemed to make sense to her. She had smiled at him slightly, and laughed again before more guards entered the fenced off arena and the session continued.  
He soon learned that what he had first believed to be her biggest weakness was in fact her greatest strength, and it was not her height. While she was running through a simulated fight against a guard, her ignorant opponent grabbed her long braid and pulled it, twisted her head back, making her wince painfully; but the guard had loosened it, the tie securing the braid was tugged out, and her braid unraveled, parting her hair into flowing waves. What happened next made everyone freeze, and some quite literally. White air, pure, unblemished white and cold, began creeping out of her locks and down around her, it was so frigid it could be felt ten feet away, which was where the Soldier stood, observing the fight. The guard who had unfortunately grabbed her braid suddenly let out a horrified scream. The white air had curled and twisted its way around his arms, insidiously twining itself about him. His grip was slackened and she fell to the ground from his unexpected release. But the sudden change of distance did nothing to prevent the inexorable whiteness from depositing into solid ice, freezing the guard in his stance while thick ice crackled and snapped as it ruthlessly coated him, moving upward from his arms, around his shoulders, down his torso and lower body, and threatening his face and head. Guards were spellbound, gaping at the phenomenon occurring before their eyes. It was like watching a glacial pestilence spew its death and destruction before one’s very eyes. Even he was astounded, but for another reason. An inexplicable feeling had overcome him, almost like deja vu, like he had seen something very similar to this happen once before. He glanced around for some explanation from someone, but no one seemed to be taking any action against the ice spreading over the guard; it would inevitably cover the guard’s face and then suffocate him.   
The entire thing took less than a minute, from the guard loosening the braid to him being entirely coated in ice. He was motionless as he died, unable to move, unable to breath, unable to cry for help. There was something eerily beautiful about it, death by ice. It was silent, subtle, and smooth; clean and almost courteous.  
“Whoops,” was the only thing his trainee said as she reached up with chain link covered fingers to re-braid her hair. “You shouldn’t have grabbed my braid.” Her voice was like her laugh, like bells ringing in his ears and fuzzing his brain over, but simultaneously cutting through the fog like a warning, cautioning him of dangerous shoals in the approaching waters. He found himself liking it, and desperately wanting to hear it again. Then it hit him. He remembered why she seemed so familiar: she had been phase two of his assignment just days ago.  
Once she finished putting her hair back into its braid and rose to her feet, eyeing the guard completely coated in translucent ice, the session was called to a conclusion. Suddenly she let out a gasp, that was when he realized he had had his eyes glued on her for the past couple minutes, staring at her with awe; she dropped back to the ground, letting out a slight scream of pain as the chain link armguards hummed to life, sending electric currents pulsing up and down her arms and then throughout her body. She keeled over onto the floor, breathing labored as guards hurried forward, one wasting no time in sliding a needle into her exposed neck. Almost immediately her body relaxed and her piercing blue eyes slid to a close, and with them, his brain seemed to snap back, now that she was silent and her striking eyes were gone. There were no more bells ringing gently in his mind.


	12. December 30, 2012

She sat alone, quietly, in the bed, the IV still dripping down into her arm, inundating her bloodstream with painkillers that made her groggy and weak. Fury had left a while ago, she assumed to determine her fate with SHIELD. She didn’t know how she’d even gotten there, she only remembered passing out when the helicopter the group had flown to the facility reached a certain height, then she woke to find Fury across from her.   
She stared down at the latest brands tattooed into her flesh and sighed. She supposed it would be confusing, to say the least, as to why she had opposing symbols on her skin.  
“Bella!” She snapped her head up at the soft sound of the voice; Tony Stark slipped through the door, looking decidedly sneaky. He had some sort of ultra-slim gadget in his hands that was giving off a slight electric buzz which made her tense up in an involuntary defensive action, as though her muscle memory recalled how she should react yet her conscious mind was unaware. She flinched, cowering backwards against the pillows behind her when he tapped a few buttons on the screen as though she expected his action to have some physical effect on her.  
“I’m jamming all cameras and audio devices in this part of the building,” Tony explained quickly, unaware of her reaction to his motions as he rushed over to the IV machine and began to shut it down. Two others, Natasha, the redhead, and Clint, the arrow man, slipped into the room and hurried over to the machines, flicking them off as fast as possible.  
“What the hell is going on?” She asked nervously as Tony carefully pulled the IV needles from her arm and tossed them aside. She immediately reached over towards where the sole remaining chainmail arm guard lay on the table beside the bed and grabbed it, clutching onto it tightly as though it would safeguard her sanity.   
“We figured you didn’t want to go back under,” Tony stated, helping her up off the bed. She looked utterly bewildered by the sudden actions going on around her, and kept glancing around the room as though looking for someone who both was not one of the group who had come to break her out, and was not even present.  
“As in cryo back under,” Natasha continued, a slight smile on her face.   
“So we’re busting you out,” Clint summed up, apparently amused by the whole situation.  
“Thor’s distracting the guards at the end of the hall,” Steve Rogers appeared at the doorway and informed the others. “But we only have so long. Bellona, can you walk?”  
“Um…. Yeah,” she said slowly. Her eyes roved the room, settling on Cap as though she expected him to next order her to walk forwards. He raised his eyebrows at her, perplexed by her hesitation, causing her to frown before she cautiously took a step forward, and felt her knees give out from under her immediately. Dizziness rushed through her from the painkillers still working their way through her body.  
“Or not,” Clint observed sarcastically.  
“I got her,” Steve announced, stepping forward, he scooped her up as though she were a small, fragile puppy, ignoring her involuntary shuddering as he did so. Fury was going to be beyond pissed if he found out what they were doing; they had to act first, ask questions later. “Clint, Nat, lead the way. Tony, guard the rear.”  
Clint and Natasha complied immediately, running through the door and into the hallway. Steve followed close behind, carrying Bellona’s frail body; she was trembling as though she still couldn’t wrap her head around what was happening. Tony jogged after them, fidgeting with his handheld gadget. “Car’s in the lot, coordinates are set. We’ll take her to the compound.”  
“Won’t that be a little obvious,” Steve murmured over his shoulder. “It’ll be the first place Fury will think we’ve gone.”  
“Precisely,” Tony said with delight, “it’s too obvious, which is why Fury will think we’re smart enough to not go there.”


	13. December 18, 1991

The first thing she saw upon snapping into consciousness were emotionless ultramarine eyes.  
She didn’t know how long she spent gazing into them, she didn’t recall blinking, or seeing the staring blue eyes blink either. Her muscles were sore and aching, pulsing and straining in sync with her bones, her ligaments felt as though they’d been stretched to full capacity, then folded, then stretched out again. Her skin felt as though it had been submerged in boiling acid, then placed in a blacksmith’s kiln to fire dry. It was like every cell in her body had been injected with steroids, imploded, and reformed out of the enhanced fragments.   
Then the eyes beckoned to her, the gears in her head twitched and turned, and she followed the eyes, because that was what she was programmed to do.   
They entered a large, poorly lit room that had a fenced off arena in the middle. Guards surrounded it, all with loaded automatic weapons. More guards were inside the fence, these ones with heavy protective equipment on. It was the several others in the arena that her eyes were drawn to, however. Four males and one female, each possessing a considerable build and with a foot of height on her, her eyes automatically scanned them for weaknesses, identifying the female’s braid, a male’s excess upper body muscle…. Her observations were interrupted when the gate clanged open and Vasily Karpov ushered her and the Soldier into the fenced arena.   
The eyes of the five others snapped towards the newcomers immediately. Bellona watched them give her a brief glance and nothing more. The short, lean girl with heavy chainmail covering her arms never seemed to pose much of a threat when standing next to the dominant Soldier with a metal arm and burning eyes.   
The next thing anyone knew, Bellona had been thrown into hand-to-hand combat with the other female. She was fast, and strong, certainly a better fighter than an average opponent, even one that was well-trained. But she was exceptionally tall, and in a fight with someone as short as Bellona, that would bring disadvantages. The smaller girl was quick as well, dodging and dancing away from the taller female with a lightning speed that left her opponent turning and twisting about to keep up with her. Bellona fought like a war: a minimal threat from a distance, but ruthless and bloody when faced on the front lines. The chainmail covering her arms was used to its utmost advantage despite its hindering purposes; she merely had to fling up an arm to block a blow and the metal absorbed the hit. The other female soon identified this, and managed to seize hold of Bellona’s left wrist after several long moments of the smaller girl avoiding her swings, this action immobilized her entire arm. But before the female could profit from it, Bellona threw herself forward and downwards, tumbling towards the floor, she curled into a roll, the female being forced downwards with her, and having to release her grip on the smaller girl before both impacted the floor.   
They were on their feet in an instant, standing just a few paces from each other, crouched in defensive positions, sizing up their opponent, trying to detect and utilize a weakness. The taller female’s height was her obvious disadvantage, Bellona could easily duck and avoid her blows; thus the younger girl was quicker, but spent more time avoiding hits than landing them. The other soon realized that her smaller opposition kept glancing around to meet the eyes of the Soldier with the metal arm every so often, as though they were nonverbally communicating with one another.   
It was this habit that the female capitalized on. The moment Bellona’s eyes slid across the arena, she swung. The blow hit Bellona like a bulldozer, her head snapped to the side as the female sucker-punched her, knocked her out of her solid positioning, then grabbed hold of her upper arm and used the leverage to fling the tiny girl across the fenced arena. She landed at the feet of the Soldier, who extended an arm down to her and hauled the girl back up instantly. The hit and the throw had infuriated Bellona, she turned her back on the Soldier, facing the female who’d gotten the best of her. The chainmail on her arms suddenly felt much more restrictive and inhibitory as red-hot anger suddenly burst through her mind, igniting energy to course through her body, vibrating her very cells and causing her brain to go haywire. Her eyes were flaring as she glared daggers at the opposing female. The Soldier was behind her, his eyes unable to meet hers to silently initiate orders, so the raging girl reached a hand towards her long braid.   
There was an immediate response from everyone in the arena, minus the five others, whom merely tensed up in reaction to the sudden actions of those around them, and appeared somewhat puzzled, wondering why the tiny girl’s singular movement could cause such an uproar.   
Vasily Karpov had plunged his hand into his left pocket and retrieved a small handheld gadget, on which he turned a switch to the max as though his life depended on it. This activated the dormant electric currents in the chainmail arm guards on the incensed war goddess, and as volts of electricity suddenly surged through her body, paralyzing her limbs and numbing her brain, she dropped downwards helplessly, and was caught by the Soldier who had leapt forward the moment she had reached for her braid. Meanwhile, every guard had raised their weapons and taken a step towards the girl, who was placed by the Soldier at the side of the arena, beside Karpov, where her head flopped weakly against the heavy-duty fence. A lowering of the switch and the voltage was reduced, but maintained at such a level that the girl remained unable to move. She huddled against the fence, Vasily Karpov hovering over her, one hand clutching a loaded pistol, another the small rectangle that controlled the electricity coursing through her. The Soldier was also beside her, but then Karpov was barking orders and her eyes sluggishly shifted to follow him as he stalked towards the middle of the arena and engaged one of the others.   
She watched from the side of the enclosure as one of the enhanced super-soldiers fought hand-to-hand with the Soldier. The four remaining soldiers were on the opposite side of the fenced off area, watching the combatants’ every move like observational predators. Her own eyes followed every swing, duck, punch, and kick. Occasionally, through the electrical current still immobilizing her, she tensed when the other landed a particularly nasty hit on the Soldier. She found herself waiting to meet his eyes, to receive permission to jump into the fight, or tug her braid free and solidify the other in a bed of ice. But he never glanced back at her. Not that she would be able to assist anyways; Vasily Karpov was standing beside her, one eye on the fight, another on Bellona, keeping her, literally, in the palm of his hand by maintaining the electric voltage running through her.   
As the fight progressed, Bellona had analyzed the other’s fight pattern and knew where he was vulnerable, despite his enhanced abilities, her piercing blue eyes had detected his weaknesses. After the first hit from it, he feared the Soldier’s metal arm, so he focused on his opponent’s right side, but this left his own right side open to attack. He was tall, like the female, making someone who possessed Bellona’s own short height dangerous to him. His shoulders were wide, he had more upper body strength than lower body strength, meaning his center of gravity was high; he would fall easily if pushed enough. And his height meant he would fall hard. He had sustained some minor but antagonizing injuries on his right forearm and shoulder, undetectable to the average observer, but Bellona rapidly picked up on how he was favoring these.  
She flinched through the electric currents as the other landed a brutal hit on the Soldier, then let out a choked but audible gasp when he managed to fling the Soldier across the area. He landed heavily at her feet, as she had landed before him just moments before, and Karpov called an end to the fight. He praised the other, whose throat Bellona was planning on tearing out. Her blue eyes were glued to the other super-soldier, she had the vague notion that his name was Josef, but she could not bring herself to care what his name was so long as she could spot the faint beating of his jugular in his neck. She wanted to see it slow to a guttural pulse before ceasing entirely.  
She didn’t notice the pandemonium erupt around her.  
Karpov switched the electricity off in a panic and Bellona was on her feet immediately as screaming began: the group of super-soldiers had violently turned against the guards who’d accidentally provoked them.  
“Get us out of here!” Karpov snapped at the Soldier, and he obeyed instantly. Grabbing the girl with his right arm, before she could release her braid and charge into the chaos, he crushed her to his side as he forced his way through the mess, using his left, metal arm to fend off any attempted attacks by the others. Karpov stayed close, keeping the Soldier between himself and the anarchy in the enclosed area. Once reaching the gate, Karpov leapt out of the arena, the Soldier quickly pushing Bellona after the Russian colonel before turning and slamming the gate shut, ensuring it was locked while the guards screamed and moaned as the super-soldiers tore them to shreds.   
If there was one thing Bellona Drager had not lost, it was her mouth.  
“This entire thing was a stupid idea,” She immediately began criticizing Karpov as the soldiers in the pen went berserk. “How do you expect to control them all? You may think it was brilliant, creating a bunch of psychopathic murderers, but trust me, they aren't all that great. I could have killed-”  
Karpov simply shot her a vexed look that was one he would give a dog if it barked when commanded to be silent; his hand slipped into the pocket of his military uniform. She instantly regretted opening her mouth as he flicked the switch she knew was lying innocently in his pocket. She inhaled sharply as electricity suddenly coursed from the metal around her arms and into her skin again, freezing her brain and locking her muscles with zapping pain. She stumbled backwards and was caught heavily by the Soldier before she could crumble to the ground. Her vision was blurry and her breathing labored; Vasily Karpov was a goddamn bitch. She was blinking furiously, attempting to maintain consciousness, a slight whimper escaped her lips, but Karpov was keeping the current steady. He muttered something to the Soldier, who silently complied by lifting the girl up and carrying her out like an inanimate sack of potatoes.   
The electrical current paralyzing her muscles and sending jagged slices of pain through her limbs did not cease until the Soldier placed her back in the restraining chair at Karpov’s command. The silver-armed Soldier backed away and several guards flocked around her, quickly stripping the chainmail off her arms and snapping the heavier metal arm guards of the chair shut around her limp forearms. She felt the faint pricks of the IV needles that pierced her skin before the machine began humming behind her and her eyes fluttered to a close.


	14. December 31, 2012

Somewhere in between being carried out of the SHIELD facility, getting into Tony’s fabulously upgraded car, and arriving at the shiny new Avengers compound in New York City, Bellona passed out to sleep off the excess painkillers oozing their way through her bloodstream. She awoke, what must have been hours later, in a large, modern bedroom, with floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the dazzling Big Apple.   
She climbed out of the king-size bed with cream-colored covers and padded her way towards the windows on the opposite side of the room. Her footsteps were silent on the thickly carpeted floor. She paused just in front of the windows and peered out. Her jaw almost dropped; New York was beautiful, an urban metropolis pulsing with the rhythm of the twenty-first century. The heartbeat of a nation. Even at that hour, a little past one in the morning, the city still seemed alive. Humming with enterprising energy so powerful it permeated the air and could be inhaled like life-giving oxygen. She stood there for a long moment, gazing out over the city and steadying her breathing rate. Something about the constant drumming of the city was incredibly calming and she relished in it, embracing its dynamism and absorbing its strength.   
Finally, she turned away, her mind clear, her physical pain alleviated. She glanced around the room; it was simply but stylishly decorated. On either side of the large bed were glass night stands, on one was the remaining chainmail armguard she had kept, another projected a screen onto the blank wall behind it. The time, date, weather, and news headlines were flickering upon the wall. The time, 1:37 AM flashed at her, then the date: December 31, 2012.  
2012\. She had been asleep for twelve years. It felt like it had been both a lifetime and a mere blink of her eyes. She shook her head, this fact disconcerted her, so she continued studying the room. At the foot of the bed was an expensive looking ottoman, made of black leather, to contrast the cream bed. The windows took up an entire wall, to the left of the bed were double doors, leading out of the room, she assumed. To the right of the bed were two single doors. In between them was a long full length mirror. Upon exploration, one of these doors revealed a luxurious bathroom, complete with full bath and a tub that had to be at least five feet deep and ten feet wide. The other opened up into a walk-in closet, stocked by someone with a taste for black and leather. She chewed on her lower lip before the name she was attempting to recall flashed into her head. Natasha. The Russian redhead. She certainly couldn't complain, as they shared a similar fashion taste. Seeing the rows of clothing made her pause; either this room had already been used by another, or it had been prepared for her, if the latter, then the plans to break her out of the SHIELD facility and to here would have had to have been made almost immediately after her discovery in Siberia.   
Staring around at the racks of clothing, she chose the most comfortable outfit she could find from the closet, stumbling upon baggy black sweatpants and a loose blue t-shirt. Then she locked herself in the bathroom and turned on all the taps that poured warm water and multi-colored bubbles into the tub that could have been classified as an indoor swimming pool. The bathroom was soundproof and had speakers installed in the walls, so she lounged in an ample amount of bubbles while toying with a glass screen on the side of the tub that displayed the music options. She opted for the modern pop songs; she found herself bitterly surprised when she failed to recognize any, and her utter perplexion of her environment was further muddled when she discovered multiple scars from what appeared to be gunshot wounds on various spots on her body, along the left side of her neck, above the collarbone, with the worst being directly above her right hip. She attributed the stiffness and occasional soreness of her right hip to this injury.  
She walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed, hair braided in her usual long French braid, around 2:45 AM, feeling like she had just washed away twelve years of cryofreeze. Noting that the one thing the otherwise lavish bedroom lacked was a fridge stocked full of food, she wandered over towards the double doors and tugged at a handle. She half expected it to be locked, but was pleased to find it open, so she slipped out into the dark hallway and quietly closed the door behind her. She paused, glancing up and down the hall. Closed doors were on either side of the long hall, which was richly carpeted in a periwinkle blue color. Trusting her instincts, she turned right and softly treaded down the hall. She arrived at a wide staircase and trotted down it, coming to another hall, shorter than the last. She headed down it before coming to a modern glass staircase that led down to wide gathering area. There were leather couches and a glass coffee table under long windows that permitted a bird’s eye view of the city nightlife, on the other side of the room was a long bar, stocked with alcohol, but next to that was a wide table and chairs, behind it a large refrigerator and an electric stove. She spotted a microwave, toaster oven, coffee machine, and other appliances further down the counter. Everything was extremely modern, and it made her wonder how far the world had progressed since she had been frozen over.   
Bellona hurried towards the food and tugged open the fridge door. It was well-stacked; her eyes roved over cartons of eggs, gallons of milk, juices, creams, meats, fruits, vegetables, anything imaginable. She was overwhelmed, staring into the fridge, suddenly hyper-aware of how much her stomach was grumbling.   
“Hungry?” A voice called from the staircase she had just descended from. She whipped around immediately, the fridge door slamming shut from the force of the turn, her right palm suddenly heated and in that moment she knew flames were crackling on her fingertips because of her frightened surprise. She extinguished them in an instant by clenching into a fist the hand on which the fire had appeared. But it was too late. Natasha Romanoff stood on the other side of the room, staring at Bellona Drager in pure shock.   
“Uh… Yeah, a bit,” She muttered, avoiding the redhead’s demanding green eyes by staring down at the expensive marble floor.   
“What… Was that…?” Natasha tossed the question into the void. Clearly 3 AM was no time for small talk.   
“What was what?” Bellona asked hastily, stuffing her hands into the deep pockets of the baggy sweatpants, not raising her eyes from their spot on the floor.  
“You and I both know exactly what I'm talking about,” Natasha Romanoff said, the heels of her tall boots clicked as she strolled forward, sliding into a seat at the round table just before Bellona. She raised her eyebrows as she looked at the dark-haired girl with inquisitive green eyes. “No one is going to hurt you, Bellona. You can trust us.”  
“I don't trust anybody.” It was a partial truth, she had the feeling she had trusted at least one person once before.  
“That's a good philosophy to have, but I wasn't lying. We aren't here to hurt you. We broke into SHIELD HQ, indirectly disobeyed orders, then brought you here to keep you from being put in cryo again. You can tell us the truth.”  
Bellona paused, eyeing her warily for a moment before inclining her head to express her understanding. She turned and walked towards what she believed to be a coffee machine. “Does this make coffee?” She asked Natasha casually and the Russian nodded her affirmation. Bellona stared at the contraption, and then pushed the button with a water drop on it. The machine whirred to life and began to fill.   
“I don't really know what Hydra did to me exactly,” the girl admitted while watching the coffee machine’s water tank fill. “But I've always been able to do…. Other things....” She paused and raised her right hand again, ignoring the fresh brands and snapping her fingers. A tiny globe of flame appeared, dancing between her fingertips without burning her bare flesh. “Like this. And this,” she turned towards the coffee machine, where the tank had finished filling. A snap of her left fingers, and steam arose out of the tank; the water had boiled. “Do you want coffee?”  
“No,” Natasha responded after a moment of looking at the girl with new eyes. “What else can you do?”  
Bellona shrugged, beginning at random to open cabinets in search of a mug.   
“Mugs are in that one,” Natasha informed her. Bellona’s hand paused on the one she pointed out. She opened it and pulled out a large mug, plopping it into the machine’s platform.   
“How does this work?” The blue-eyed girl asked sheepishly, staring at the high-tech coffeemaker, a sense of being out of time suddenly hit her like a punch to the gut.  
“You can either use real beans, which are already in it, or use one of those,” the redhead pointed at a glass jar full of tiny plastic cups covered with tearable lids. “They're called K-cups.”  
“We didn't have those in 1991,” Bellona mumbled, “which one makes stronger coffee?”  
“The beans.” At this she studied the machine for a minute then pushed the button that had a coffee bean on it. She supposed that should have been obvious, but she was too busy choking on her sense of anachronism. She gulped her panic away as the machine began to grind beans, mix them with water, and trickle fresh-brewed coffee into the mug.   
“I suppose I can do lots of things,” Bellona continued their prior conversation. “You know, the usual murder-assassin type things. Kill someone using only a pencil, snipe a target a thousand yards away….”  
“I mean enhanced,” her questioner clarified, “anyone can learn to shoot a gun.”  
“Not everyone can learn to shoot a gun faster than their opponent,” Bellona said, the smell of coffee a delight to her nose, it sent a wave of calm through her tensed muscles. “But some others things I suppose.” At her words she raised her right hand, and flicked her wrist, so her fingers pointed towards Natasha. The Russian blinked with surprise as a whoosh of air drifted the rich smell of coffee over her. “Sometimes I do things like this,” Bellona announced, feeling like a child showing off magic tricks, she held up her left arm and snapped her fingers again. From her fingers and the palm of her hand suddenly grew forest green ivy vines. They curled and spun their way down around her bare forearm, hiding both the Hydra symbol and Soviet star, before she brushed her right hand against them and they burned away to reveal her pale skin and the brands that had been briefly hidden.   
“What did Hydra have you do with your powers?” Natasha asked after studying the girl for a minute as she picked up the mug full of steaming coffee from the machine and carried it over towards the fridge, which she opened and pulled out the nearest carton of cream. “Oh, you know, the normal Hydra stuff, if I remember correctly,” her long braid swept over her shoulder as she watched the cream form intricate patterns in the dark coffee before it swirled together into a solid caramel color. “Murder. Assassination. Espionage. Destruction. Chaos. Sugar?” She asked, glancing around at the cabinets inquisitively.  
“That cabinet,” Natasha replied, her voice steady, matching Bellona’s casual admittance of her past; she pointed at the cabinet directly behind the girl. Bellona opened it and found a covered sugar bowl immediately. Taking it down, she removed the lid, and twirled a hand over it. A small pile of sugar lifted itself up and plopped into the mug of coffee with a slight splash. Returning the sugar, she picked up the coffee and carried it towards the table, where she sat opposing the redhead. Bellona stared at her and lifted an eyebrow. “Where were you trained?”  
At these words Natasha Romanoff stiffened, her green eyes flared, and she knew it would be both useless and hypocritical to lie. “How do you know-”  
Bellona turned her left arm over and tapped the red star tattooed into her skin. “I recognize another Soviet trained assassin when I see one.”  
“The Red Room…. Did we…. Ever come across each other?”  
“I doubt it, but if we did, you wouldn’t remember me. No one ever does,” her laugh was like snow, beautiful but cold, “it's perfect isn't it? That way no one knows who you are when you come to murder them.” Bellona didn’t mention that it was more likely to be herself who would fail to remember having met the redhead before.  
“So Hydra had you do their dirty work,” the former KGB assassin stated calmly.   
“I suppose that’s what it’s called,” Bellona said, “I was always brainwashed after. Or experimented on. Hydra was particularly interested in me. For obvious reasons,” she muttered, staring down at her coffee. She twirled a finger over it, and both women watched it stir itself.   
“Although,” Bellona snickered, placing her left hand around the mug and smiling mischievously, “there is one good thing about all this.” Natasha Romanoff watched as the mug froze over briefly, the steam suddenly ceasing from the hot coffee as it froze, becoming completely solid, then melting, fracturing itself back into liquid, but several solid blocks of frozen coffee remained in the mug, floating like ice on the top of the now cold liquid. “Instant iced coffee.”


	15. February 6, 1978

The lights had gone out in the Drager household. It was almost midnight and snow was pounding New England in a monster storm that would be added to the pantheon of unholy icy catastrophes almost immediately. The Blizzard of ‘78.  
Four year-old Bellona Drager was captivated by the flickering of the candles before her. She was sitting in a tall backed chair in the dining room of the Drager home, her toddler legs barely reaching the edge, her chin was level with the polished table before her. Her father sat at the head, to his daughter’s left. James Drager was muttering quietly to himself as he skimmed through a heaping pile of paperwork before him. For the heir to a fortune accrued through generations of intellectual ingenuity, work never stopped. His wife, Maria, was sitting at his left, engrossed in her own stack of paper. For a self-made millionaire, work never stopped.   
The three Dragers were alone, unable to sleep with the howling gusts of the storm raging outside. The room they occupied was lit only by the few candles Maria had procured before their housekeeper had retired for the night. Their electric flashlights and lanterns were at the opposite end of the table, being reserved for later usage. The warm glow of the candles created an antiquated atmosphere of soothing serenity that seemed eerily paradoxical to the storm shrieking away outside.  
Bellona could not tear her bright blue eyes away from the wavering points of light that sat atop each thick candle in their pewter holders. She watched molten wax drip down the side of one and shivered involuntarily, tremors running through her tiny frame. Her parents had insisted she go to bed, but the toddler had refused, obstinately arguing with her precocious vocabulary that she couldn’t possibly sleep with such an inordinate amount of noise occurring above them. James and Maria hadn’t quite understood what their four year-old daughter had meant by this, as she had made that statement hours ago, around six in the evening, when they usually put their daughter to bed. The storm that screamed above them now had only been a quiet whisper at that time, practically undetectable from the inside of their home. Of course, Bellona Drager hadn’t been referring the literal noise she had heard, but rather, the noise she had felt.  
Their power had gone out less than an hour ago, and Bellona had laughed in the darkness while her mother hastened to light the candles, finally managing to get them lit with James’ personal lighter while her husband complained about her insistence of rationing their usage of the flashlights and battery powered lanterns. The instant the towers of flames had burst into life Bellona had been silent. Once, her parents believed she had fallen asleep, but a glance over confirmed that she was merely staring at the candles, as though spell-bound by the wavering columns of light.  
It was just after the ancient grandfather clock struck midnight and tolled the arrival of the new day when the candle nearest Bellona seemingly toppled over of its own volition, and the flame dancing on the wick jumped towards the girl. Unconsciously, she held a small chubby hand out towards it, and James Drager glimpsed the flames lick his daughter’s fingers before he snatched the candle up and quickly extinguished it. He found himself shouting to his wife to find the first-aid kit, as no ambulances could get through in this weather, as he leapt forwards and picked his daughter up out of the chair, placing her on the table to better view the extent of injuries the fire had left on the four year-old.  
He was stunned to find Bellona giggling. Both James and Maria froze in horrified astonishment as they came to stand before their daughter on top of the table, her short little legs kicking in delight as she extended a hand towards her parents, the same hand she’d reached towards the candle with. Orange tongues of flame were playing about her fingers, chasing each other like romping children, her fingers were waggling mischievously, sending the flames twisting and twirling about.   
It was several minutes before the child grew bored, or perhaps distracted, when the storm outside sent the very foundation of the building shaking and creaking upon itself. A snarl of glacial wind battered the sides of the house and Bellona Drager finally looked away from her display of pyrotechnics and smiled at her parents the way she had done when she had spoken her first word — “mama.” Although the flames had somehow vanished from her fingertips, her luminous blue eyes still seemed to whirl and frolic the way the fire had on her fingertips.


	16. December 31, 2012

Natasha Romanoff, ex-KGB assassin, cooked Bellona Drager, ex-Hydra asset, breakfast while the later sipped on coffee. Maybe it was because it was the first meal she had eaten in twelve years, or because the redhead was a fabulous cook, but Bellona had never tasted anything as good as the pancakes, eggs, and ham that Natasha whipped up at 3 AM. While Natasha cooked, the elder girl poured over the screen embedded in the glass table, introducing herself to the Internet and Google, which barely existed twelve years ago, occasionally questioning Agent Romanoff about happenings that had occurred while she had been in cryo. The world had changed a lot, yet everything was still the same, underneath it all.   
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bellona said in astonishment as Nat placed a plate heaping with food in front of her. Her hand was displayed over the screen on the table as she stared down at pictures of planes and crumbling buildings. “September eleven, two thousand and one?”  
“Yup,” Natasha looked grim. “And then the war on terrorism.”  
Bellona spent the next twenty minutes pouring syrup on pancakes and reading every article she could find in the attacks on New York and the Pentagon in 2001.   
“Didn't know you both were such early risers,” a voice from the glass staircase floated towards the pair. Bellona glanced up from devouring the eggs and allowed Tony Stark a slight smile as he strolled his way towards them, taking the seat to her right. Though her memories of him still floated just outside her reach, they had a warm, buttery glow to them, as though they had been enjoyable.   
“Neither did I,” Steve Rogers had jogged down the stairs and joined the group at the table. “Tony woke me up fumbling about in the hallway.”  
“Okay, I almost accidentally hit the wrong switch that I thought was the thermostat but it was actually the fire alarm but — I didn't, so, you could have been awakened rather rudely if I had. Do forgive me, Mr. Perfect, this Tower is literally still being built. Where's all this food, do I get some?”  
“Mom made it for me,” Bellona found the jape rolling off her tongue as Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony.   
“Make your own food, Stark.”  
“It's four in the morning, and, for the record, Romanoff’s eleven years younger than you, Bella. You could be her mother.”  
“Yeah, if I had a kid at eleven,” Bellona snorted before shooting a smirk at Natasha. “Thanks again, mom.” She was increasingly glad everyone around her was taking the situation so lightly, she doubted she could handle another Fury interrogation, and found it easier to avoid dealing with the heavier issues stomping around her brain by making everything a lighthearted joke.  
“I'll make breakfast,” Steve volunteered, jumping up from the seat he’d taken on Bellona’s other side and headed towards the fridge and stove.   
“I see you're acquainting yourself with technology,” Tony was watching Bellona’s fingers fly over the screen on the table.  
“I went under in 2000, not 1900,” she reminded him. “Not everything is completely different. Just much faster. And cleaner. And with better aesthetics.”  
“You're taking it better than I did,” Steve said as he stared into the fridge, searching for something to make. “You’re taking everything better than I did, actually.”  
“You were frozen for like, seventy years,” Tony reminded him. “That's like the difference between the Stone Age and the Renaissance.”  
“Your historical references are slightly off, Stark,” Natasha pointed out.   
“You get the point. She’s also won the ‘hasn’t freaked out and tried to run through New York City’ contest unlike Mr. America over here.”  
“I didn’t know that was a contest,” Steve complained, pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge and shooting a look at the group around the table.  
Bellona chuckled and raised her mug of iced coffee in Steve’s direction, “I’ll thank the coffee for helping me to win that one.”  
“It became a contest once — oh shit….” Tony trailed off as a ringing permeated the air, and a face appeared on the windows across the room, which alternated as a screen. Evidently, Nick Fury was attempting to video call. “Okay, Romanoff and Rogers, hide somewhere, anywhere. Pretend you're not here. Bella — behind the counter, don't say a word no matter what happens. Pretend like you're not here, too. I'll act like he woke me up calling at this damn hour. Go!”  
Bellona Drager shot Tony Stark a confused glance as though to question who he was to order her around. Another ring pealed out before Bellona tore her gaze away from Tony and snapped her fingers; everyone in the room watched as a stiff, controlled breeze of air swept her plate and mug into the large sink in the counter. There was a split second as all three of them stared at the blue-eyed girl before she practically dove from the table behind the bar nearby, tucking her arms around her legs with her back against the cold marble. Steve soon joined her, sinking into a crouched position just next to her. Natasha sat further away, positioned so she was unseen but could have a view of the screen when Tony answered the call. The former gave her a glance that was burning of curiosity, while the latter sent her a knowing smile.  
“Fury, do you take pleasure in waking people at Godforsaken hours of the morning?” Tony had answered the incoming call and Nick Fury’s voice suddenly filled the room.   
“Don't get smart with me, Stark. I just think it's…. Funny…. How you, Romanoff, Rogers, Barton, and Thor all disappear within the same hour that we discover that Drager is missing. It’s also funny how all of SHIELD’s security cameras sudden stopped working at the same time.”  
At this Bellona quietly sucked in a breath, holding it as she listened for Tony’s answer. Seeing her distress, Steve reached a hand out and squeezed the girl’s shoulder in reassurance. She smiled weakly at him in response.  
“Sounds like you need to sort out some technical difficulties,” Tony let out a convincing yawn, “maybe I’d look into but.… it’s four in the morning and I’m a bit busy here. That’s why I came back to the compound. I’ve no idea where the others are. Have you tried calling them to wake them up? Sounds like an excellent idea.”  
“Where is Drager, Stark?”  
Her stomach plummeted, her hands grew clammy. Silver tendrils of ice were beginning drip slowly down from her left hand, acting as liquid but appearing as solid. Steve Rogers gave the girl a wide-eyed, awed look upon spotting this phenomenon. She, in turn, gave him a helpless glance, as though apologizing for the ice dripping like mercury from her fingers.  
“Who?”  
“This isn’t a game, Stark. Now, I’ll repeat myself, seeing as you’ve allegedly just woken up. Where is Drager?”  
“No, I’m being serious, is this some sort of joke? I don’t know who you mean-”  
“Bellona Drager.”  
“Oh! Bella! Well, why didn’t you say so? Yeah, I saw her in the room at SHIELD when you interrogated her. You know, Gestapo style after you tattooed her like the-”  
“I know you saw her there. What I don’t know is where she is now. So tell me, Stark, where is she?”  
“I know you know that and I also know that you know that I don’t know where she is. Have you called Steve? Wake him up, he got too much beauty sleep under that ice, doesn’t need any more. Or, better yet, call Thor. I’m sure you’re game for pissing off the god of thunder-”  
“Enough, Stark. If I wasn’t looking at your lying ass through a screen, I’d have shot you by now.”  
“Woah, it’s too early for violence, Nick.”  
“But apparently it’s not too early for your bullshit, Tony.”  
“This isn’t bullshit. This is banter.”   
“It’s bullshit. I’ll call back in two hours, and if you don’t know by then-” there was a descending buzz that eventually vanished as Nick Fury cut the connection, leaving the threat hanging in the air.  
“Yikes,” Bellona murmured softly to herself, a deadweight seemed to be settling on her shoulders while everyone else in the room was playing ignorant, simply delaying the inevitable. Balling her hands into fists, the ice swirling from her fingers slowly began to vanish as her heartbeat decreased and her anxiety faded with the absence of Fury’s voice.  
“Hey,” Steve smiled at the frightened girl, reaching out a hand and giving her shoulder another supportive squeeze. “It's gonna be okay. You've got the most powerful group of people in the world standing between you and Fury. Even he wouldn't dare mess with us.” His words, though well-meaning, seemed cliche, so Bellona merely nodded blankly at him, wondering why his blue eyes jogged something in the back of her mind.   
“Well, that’s taken care of,” came Tony’s approaching voice. “Rogers, I want breakfast.”  
Steve sighed, gave her shoulder one last squeeze before he stood and returned to his task of rummaging about the fridge. Natasha Romanoff rose to her feet and whipped a razor thin phone out of her pocket.  
“Fury’s calling me,” she announced, staring down at the glowing screen,  
“Don’t answer,” Tony replied, sliding into a chair at the table, “it’s too early to hear his voice for any longer than I have to.”  
Natasha stared at the phone’s screen for a moment, before looking up and meeting Bellona’s intense gaze. Her lips curled into a slight smile and she slid the phone back into her pocket.   
“Can’t Fury trace the phone,” Steve mentioned as he cracked several eggs at a time into a bowl. “So he’ll know her location?”  
“Don’t worry, Cap, I’ve taken care of that,” Tony replied from the table, looking slightly miffed that Captain America could both easily fit and expertly crack three eggs in one hand simultaneously. “I’ve had…. What language would you understand — signal killers — active from the minute we entered the car up to now. They’ll stay on until I feel like turning them off. No one’s electronics can be traced so long as they’re active. Fury has no idea where any of us are. Well, he knows I’m here but that was a given.”  
“What are you gonna do?” Bellona muttered, immediately darkening the mood in the room as she dropped back into her seat at the table. “I mean, he’ll find out eventually that you all busted me out and that I’m here.”  
“Maybe he will,” Tony shrugged, “but by then he’ll have no choice to accept our decision. We are the Avengers after all.”  
“But what if the orders to put me back in cryo came from an upper level? Can you disobey the highest authority?”  
“Well, first of all, yes we can,” Tony announced, “second of all, you’re a U.S. citizen. No authority can order a U.S. citizen be put into cryogenic sleep.”  
“Hydra didn’t have a problem with it,” she grumbled, staring down at the glass table and running her fingers over it in random, intricate patterns.  
“We aren’t Hydra,” Steve said, gently turning away from the stove to look at girl with nervous blue eyes. “No one’s going to force you to do anything.”  
“Well,” She turned her right forearm over and stared at the still fresh brands. “You haven’t acted like it.”  
“That wasn't us,” Natasha explained, waving a hand at everybody around the room. “That was an upper level government decision which we weren't even informed of until it was too late.”  
“It's a good thing we found out about the cryo decision before it was too late for that, though,” Steve mentioned as he tried to figure out how to turn the electric stove on. Eventually Natasha stood and went over to assist him, and the room was plunged into a brief silence.  
“What is ‘Youtube’?” Bellona asked after a moment, distracted by the screen on the glass table.  
“Oh, it's brilliant,” Tony said from the other end of the table. “Go ahead, play with it. You'll love it.”   
Bellona Drager spent the next two hours traipsing her way around the merry-go-round that is the internet. She skipped from reading her own obituary from 1991 to spending a solid hour clicking on various Wikipedia articles, including one that claimed to be a law that determined that the longer an Internet conversation progressed, the likelier the chance of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis popping up. It took only a few minutes for her to end up on the Wikipedia page for the Nazi party, after reading through the Hydra, Red Skull, and Captain America pages. She was both pleased and disappointed to discover no existing Wikipedia page for herself. Hydra hid its assets well.   
“Iron Man?” Bellona snorted as she scoured Tony’s own Wikipedia page. “That suit is not made out of iron.”  
“Of course not, but it flows better. Besides, it's Captain America not Captain Vibranium Shield. Okay, wait, that's actually a cool name-”  
“That's a terrible name,” Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony Stark, who was eagerly focusing on the food Steve had cooked.   
“What do they call you?” Bellona asked the Russian, who smiled cryptically.   
“Black Widow,” Steve replied, sinking into a chair at the table. “Intimidating, isn't it?”  
“Very.”  
“So…. Bella…. Can I call you Bella?”  
“Um…. Yeah, I guess….”  
“You’re… enhanced, I take it,” Steve asked, giving her a curious look. Natasha and Tony both paused, glancing between the Captain and the war goddess with interest at where the conversation could head.  
“I don’t like that term,” Bellona admitted, glancing down at the screen on the table briefly. The Wikipedia page for the Avengers was open before her but she closed it, disappointed by how little real information it contained. Apparently there had been a huge battle in New York earlier that year, that included an alien invasion. Aliens didn’t exist in the 1990s, at least, not in the way they’d been seen in 2012. “It makes it seem like I’ve doped up on a bunch of drugs and can now shoot lasers out of my eyes. I’ve always been able to do what you saw, I think….”  
“Do what?” Tony demanded, his expression bewildered as he turned to Steve, “what did you see?” Then he whipped his head back around to stare at Bellona. “What can you do? How come you never told me about any of this?”  
“He saw this happen,” Bellona held out her left hand and let ice coat it for a millisecond before it melted away, “and you saw the plate move, earlier. I showed Natasha some other stuff before you all stormed down here….”  
“So Hydra didn’t give you those powers somehow?” Steve held a hand up to pause Tony’s next question.  
“No,” Bellona shook her head, “I don’t know what they did to me, but they didn’t give me this.” A tiny ball of flame flickered within the palm of her right hand for a heartbeat, all three pairs of eyes around the table stared at it, fascinated.  
“Neither Hydra nor the Soviets could possibly give anyone powers like that,” Natasha spoke up, “it’s impossible. This is something else, possibly something…. something supernatural.”  
“How come you never told me?” Tony sounded incredibly offended, as though he hadn’t been invited to a killer party and was just now being told stories about how amazing it was.  
Bellona shrugged, her blue eyes cloudy because she was still grappling to sort through murky memories that included Tony Stark. “I…. I don’t think I told anyone, it’s not something you flaunt, and it’s not something I can…. completely control.... Besides, who do you trust with a secret like that?”  
Tony Stark’s eyes met hers and held her gaze for a long moment. He observed the confusion, the pain, the struggle behind her blue irises, and he gave her a sad, strained smile, the kind one gives a dementia patient when they forget your name for the umpteenth time, except the patient is someone you love and seeing them fail to remember you is like a slap in the face every time. “Bella.… you can trust me.”  
His last two words seemed to set off bells, sirens, horns in her head. The three Avengers watched as the girl’s eyes bulged to the size of quarters, her jaw going slack as she stared across the table at Tony Stark, she fell heavily back into her seat and a few tongues of flame twisted and twirled on her fingertips as emotions rumbled and raged across her face. Agony, remembrance, nostalgia, guilt, horror, astonishment.  
“Oh… my God….” she whispered quietly after what felt like another twelve years. “Tony….” She pronounced his name like she was, at last, greeting a long lost friend. She watched his face light up, as though he’d just been given a much-desired present.   
“Do you remember me?” He leaned forward, his voice tinged with both eagerness and nervousness.  
“You…. you bought, no, designed a jeep yourself for my sixteenth birthday, and used to like your coffee black, with an extra shot of espresso and extra sugar….”  
Tony opened his mouth to reply, excited relief coloring his features, but he was prevented from speaking by a loud ringing once more. Nick Fury’s face again appeared as the window darkened, seconding as a huge screen.   
“Oh, fantastic,” he groaned bitterly instead, slumping down towards the table. “Okay, positions everyone.”  
Bellona, awash with her newfound memories slowly tottered over to sit behind the bar, relying on the steady arm of Steve Rogers to guide her there.   
“Have you not moved in two hours?” Fury asked sarcastically as Tony answered the video call.  
“Uh, no, I went to the fridge for food, obviously,” Tony returned the sarcasm, gesturing towards the half-empty plate before him.   
“Well have you made up your mind?”  
“About what? What I want to eat, because in that case yes I have, as you can see. I'm really enjoying these amateurly cooked scrambled eggs and these-”  
“Stark, I don't give a rat’s ass what you eat for breakfast. Where is Drager?”  
“Well that is rather rude, but I told you, I don't know. Call Rogers.”  
“I called Agent Romanoff, her phone is suddenly untraceable.”  
“Maybe she's somewhere she doesn't want to be found.”  
“Are you implying Romanoff is with Drager?”  
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe she’s defected and taken Bella with her.”  
“Based on your history, when it comes to Drager the first person likely to defect is you, Stark.”  
“Now you’re questioning my loyalties? You have absolutely no respect for anyone at six in the morning, do you?”  
“Stark, all I want to know is whether or not you know where Bellona Drager is.”  
“Bad luck, then.”  
“Stark, do you know what happens when Hydra injects you with super-soldier serum?”  
“Yeah, you’ve explained that enough.”  
“Well what also happens is people die. Now tell me where Drager is before we hear about a mass murder somewhere.”  
“Fury, I know you only have one eye, but please try to understand me when I say I don't know.”  
“What does me having one eye have to do with your apparent misunderstanding of my intellectual capabilities?”  
“I have no idea, but in the pirate movies the ones with the eyepatches always seemed less accomplished, at least intellectually and-”  
“Shut the hell up, Stark.”  
“Oh, sorry, Fury, I have an incoming call, from Pepper, so it must be important, gotta go, have fun interrogating Thor about your missing person’s case!” There was a clicking sound and Fury’s angry protests disappeared.   
“He’ll probably show up and bang on the front door in a few hours,” Natasha said as she rose to her feet.   
“Two hours and twenty two minutes to be exact,” Tony said, tapping a small screen in his hand. “By which time, none of us will be here.”  
“Where did you plan on going?” Steve asked, reaching out a hand to help Bellona to her feet.  
Tony gestured towards the windows. “It's New York. Bella hasn't seen New York since….”  
“I think…. I was here in 1996,” Bellona replied, laying aside the sudden wash of memories with Tony Stark, a muddy memory leaping to the front of her mind at the mention of the year.  
“-since 1996. Let’s take her around, Cap, I suppose you can come, so can Romanoff and Barton, but make sure you all don't look too much like tourists, I can't stand that. Might as well take Thor too, show the mighty god what NYC is like when it's not being invaded by aliens. Wait, Bella, what were you doing in New York in 1996?”  
The former Hydra asset shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…. I don't know if you’d want to know….”


	17. June 20, 1996

Mars stood on the top floor of a newly constructed apartment building, its windows yet to be installed so that it resembled a skeleton, the war goddess at his side as the pair peered down onto their battlefield: a crowded New York street; they had eyes for only the sleek black limousine that had just pulled up outside City Hall.   
“Make sure he exits on the street,” the Soldier commanded as he peered through the scope of his Soviet-made sniper rifle. Bellona silently watched as the limousine, toy-size from this distance, cruised to a stop and the driver exited the vehicle. She swiftly removed her leather combat glove from her left hand and rubbed her thumb along the length of her index finger in a graceful motion. Ice suddenly coated her pale skin with a chilling fondness. The pair watched as the chauffeur walked around to the back door of the vehicle, and tugged on the handle. It failed to open. He tried again, and the door still refused to open. Under her mask, the dark-haired girl smiled softly at the ice on her palm. The inside mechanism of the limousine door’s lock had been frozen over, preventing the opening of the door. Finally, the driver forsook his actions, and walked to the other side of the vehicle and opened this door, allowing the passenger to step out into the street.   
A tall elderly man in a tailored suit exited the limousine, a briefcase in his hand. He had spoken only a word to his driver before the Soldier pulled the trigger. 

Bellona was leaping down the stairs of the apartment building, following the Soldier in the black uniform until he came to a halt on a landing, and turned back to face her. His blue eyes, the only feature visible between his mask and long hair met hers and she paused, watching him intently as he held a finger up and beckoned her to listen. Bellona inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, focusing on the faint sounds on the floors beneath them. Somewhere below them, on one of the stairwells, were several men, armed, and fast approaching. Her eyes flew open, meeting the Soldier’s instantly.   
“Six men, NYPD, armed with basic defensive weapons, calling for backup on suspected assassin,” the facts flowed from her lips with ease.  
He didn’t have to say a word for her to understand what he wanted her to do. His eyes communicated his orders efficaciously; her hand immediately reached up and pulled the tie from her long braid. She combed through her dark hair with her gloved fingers, then tugged the glove off. A white glow hummed from her locks and spun its way around her fingers. She leaned over the handrailing on the stairs, allowing her to see to the very basement of the building. The men approaching were a dozen flights up, making them about ten flights down from the assassins. She curled her fingers into a fist, and extended her arm into the void in between the staircases, then splayed her fingers wide, tips pointing to where she could just make out the men pounding up the stairs. Instantly, there were shouts of horror and surprise, as the staircase the officers were charging up became coated in a thick sheet of ice. They slipped and stumbled and finally fell backwards down the flight, ending up in a tangled mess on the landing, screaming and cursing to and at one another.   
The two watched them quietly, Bellona’s arm still splayed out over the stairs, though she snatched it back when she spotted an officer glance upwards. Their voices were somewhat muffled as they stood on the landing, attempting to figure out what to do about the iced over staircase. Bellona heard one of them pull out a handheld radio, and she hissed softly under her breath, snapping the fingers on her right hand. There was a buzz of electricity throughout the entire building, and the Soldier heard the police officer’s radio crackle over into static and then die.  
It took a few moments for the officers to decide to turn around. The moment they stepped down onto the stairs to retreat, that staircase in turn, iced over, sending them crashing down to the next landing. This happened each time, until they finally stumbled out of the staircase and onto the ground floor, battered, bruised, and broken. The moment they disappeared, the Soldier charged forward, zipping down the stairs. She was at his heels. By the time they reached the iced over staircases, it took only a wave of Bellona’s hand for the ice to vanish and turn into glowing whiteness that wrapped itself around her loose hair.  
“Can I drive?” The girl asked mischievously as they fled the building and rocketed towards the lone, nondescript motorcycle in the wide parking lot which the back door of the building led out to. Construction vehicles filled the lot, making their flight out unnoticed.  
“No,” came the immediate response in Russian as they approached the bike. “Get on.”  
Bellona rolled her eyes and hopped onto the back of the motorcycle behind the Soldier. She turned her attention to her hair as the Soldier revved the bike’s engine, finishing her braid then clutching onto the Soldier as he shot the bike out of the lot and into the busy street.   
The ambulance had yet to arrive, but cop cars were pouring into the scene. A crowd was gathering, and officers were too busy attempting to cordon off the street to pay attention to casual black motorcycle that slipped out of a backstreet and vanished into the chaos of NYC streets. Soon the fleeing bike did vanish due to a subtle manipulation of the air molecules around it, forming an air ward that made the bike and its two riders invisible to the human eye.  
“Can we stop for coffee,” Bellona asked once they had zipped through the city and into the suburbs. Miniature microphones clipped onto their ears allowed them to communicate clearly over the rush of wind around them.  
“No.”  
“Why not?” Her voice was whiny and childish.  
“We have seventy-two hours to complete this mission.”  
“And we’ve got thirty-six left!”  
“We have to return to headquarters.”  
“We just have to meet with the chopper over the Canadian border, that’s roughly four hundred miles, if we drive at one hundred miles an hour we can be there in practically four hours. I’ll make sure we’re not seen.”  
“No, Bells.”


	18. December 31, 2012 - January 1, 2013

“What are we doing!?” The champagne Tony Stark decided to open several hours before the clock struck midnight spilled about the sides of his glass as he leapt to his feet, glancing around widely at the group assembled in the usual gathering room of the Avengers Tower. They had returned there around seven in the evening after a day-long outing spent traipsing about New York, showing the modernized city to Bellona, Cap, and Thor, and placing bets on who would be recognized first. It had been Steve, by a group of giggling teenage girls outside the coffee shop they’d stopped at when Bellona voiced her request for caffeine. They later returned to the Tower to have Jarvis inform them that Nick Fury had dropped by and promptly left after being informed by the robotic assistant that the Tower was empty, save for Pepper, who’d arrived while the Avengers were gallivanting about and had no idea how to answer any of Nick’s questions, Tony having kept mum about the whole situation. The Avengers, joined by Pepper, whom Tony eagerly introduced to Bellona, spent the rest of the evening being entertained by Tony’s stories of his technological adventures, Thor’s detailed recollections of Asgardian mischief, and the occasional reminiscing war story from Steve, most revolving around Howard Stark.  
“What do you mean?” Bellona asked once she’d recovered from a bout of laughter induced by a wildly humorous tale of Thor’s first visit to Earth. She’d spent the entire day with the Avengers and was growing fond of all of them, as they were with her. There was something captivating about the melancholic, lost look in her eyes that was such a paradox when compared to the aura of dynamic energy that seemed to float around her like an energizing bubble that made anyone within a few feet of her hyper-aware of her presence amongst them, drawing and maintaining their attention to her. For Bellona, it was such a novel experience to be in their company that she almost expected to snap her eyes open at any time and find blank blue eyes staring at her and electricity pulsing through her cells, though why she felt this way she couldn’t quite explain.  
“It’s New Year’s Eve!” Tony practically shouted, tapping the watch around his wrist to check the time. It flashed at him: 11:55. “We’re gonna miss the fireworks!”  
“Fire works to do what?” Thor asked, his royal, otherworldly accent coming out in his confusion over whether what Tony just said was a noun or verb.  
“You’ll see, Your Mightiness,” Tony took care to refill his glass before snatching up the whole bottle of champagne anyways. “Jarvis, call the elevator, the team’s going up to the roof to watch the show. Barton, grab the rest of the champagne. Bella, you’re gonna love this!”  
The group was frozen for a moment before all moving at once when Tony shouted at them again. They quickly followed after a giddy Tony Stark, who proceeded to explain to Bellona that the New York fireworks were better than even the one’s he had tinkered with back in Boston when he was at M.I.T. and the two had watched them from another roof, along with two dozen of their friends, the names of whom Tony began listing off as though he expected her to keep up with this barrage of information. Bellona simply nodded along, too busy attempting to sift through the dusty rushes of memories his words were bringing up than to avidly listen. The cramped quarters from all the Avengers along with Pepper and her being crammed into the elevator wasn’t helping either, and anxiety was beginning to bubble up within her. Eventually, seeing the exasperated look on the girl’s face, Steve broke in, asking whether Tony had “tinkered” with these fireworks.  
“Well what do you think, Cap?” Tony snorted as the elevator dinged their arrival and the crowded group burst out onto the roof, immediately dispersing about and scanning the scene around them. “The view’s best from over here,” the excited billionaire told them, glancing around and making sure Bellona was following him as he paced across the top of the tower and checked the time again. 11:59.  
“Am I to take it that you did?” Steve demanded, coming to a stand beside Bellona, who was silently staring down at the millions of blinking, flashing, and glinting lights of the city, her face unreadable. Natasha, Clint, Pepper, and Thor came to join them, the Russian redhead rolling her eyes, Pepper murmuring under her breath about how she did all the work to run his company while Tony messed around with fireworks, the Asgardian remaining quite baffled by Tony’s sporadic actions and excitement, and Clint couldn’t seem to find it in him to care much about anything, popping off the top of one of the champagne bottles he’d snagged at Tony’s request, tipping it back, and taking a long swig directly from it. When Natasha gave him a look, he simply flicked his eyes in Tony’s direction. She allowed a slight smile to come to her lips; Stark had been almost unbearable since Bellona Drager had been hit with a deluge of memories that contained him, as feverish as a child on Christmas.  
“Maybe I did,” Tony remarked, slightly gloating, dropping the now-empty champagne bottle beside him with a loud clunk, he tugged another from Barton’s grasp. “C’mon, Agent, share with your team.”  
“You are highly intoxicated, Stark,” Thor observed loudly, giving him a disapproving glance.  
“Pepper says I get all my best ideas when I’ve consumed a bit of alcohol.”  
“I don’t recall ever saying anything like that,” Pepper shot Tony a stony look and he returned it with a drunken grin. “And I think you’ve had a bit more than a bit of alcohol.”  
“He’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t fall off the roof,” Steve said, nevertheless shooting Tony Stark a glance that suggested he didn’t think it was the best idea to become completely inebriated while on the top of one of the tallest buildings in New York, after having disobeyed orders from SHIELD and Fury, and having just reconnected with a long lost friend who was still clearly suffering from the effects of being in Hydra’s clutches for so long. In fact, when he turned to glance down at Bellona, she seemed more anxious than ever, gazing out nervously at the dynamic city as though expecting trouble, and shivering slightly, although Steve had the feeling it wasn’t from the bitter cold of the late December night.  
“There!” Tony shouted, flinging a hand out to point out the fireworks. It seemed like a ripple had gone through the city when the clock struck midnight and the new year arrived, forming along the edges and coursing through the streets like the reverse effect of a water droplet into a pool; it came to culmination when a loud bang echoed over the city and the thousands of lights were added to by the eruption of colorful fireworks that painted the sky scarlet and golden.  
Enjoying the display of controlled pyrotechnics that celebrated another year, the group lapsed into silence, other than Tony, who was fervently chattering about the ideas he’d had to cause the fireworks’ booms to echo further and for their colors to remain in the air longer and for the smoke to dissipate quicker so as to not obstruct the viewer’s appreciation. Even Thor seemed to be somewhat impressed, or was at least pretending to be so.   
Steve noticed Bellona’s reaction first. For a moment, he had a flashback of witnessing several of his fellow soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress after an especially grueling mission before realizing that the loud explosions and flashing lights from the fireworks were having an adverse effect on the girl. She’d taken a sluggish step away from the group, before stumbling backwards, a ragged gasp tearing itself from her lips.   
Steve’s turning caused Tony, despite his alcohol saturated state to pause his racket and glance behind him; Bellona had dropped to her knees on the smooth floor of the top of the tower and was clutching her ears with hands that had tiny tongues of flame licking at her skin.   
“Bella?” He shouted loudly, whipping around, his half-full glass smashed to the ground, although it was practically inaudible as another round of fireworks exploded across the city. By now, the rest of the group had turned, now alerted to the situation. Natasha and Clint joined Steve and Tony in the ring they’d unconsciously formed around the girl, while Thor stood behind them, staring at the flames crawling over the girl’s fingers with an awed intrigue; he’d been informed of her powers but had not witnessed them. Pepper, meanwhile, was clutching the bottle of champagne Tony had shoved into her hands as he’d turned and was watching the group with frightened eyes, wondering what was happening.   
Tony dropped down beside Bellona, cautiously reaching a hand out towards her shoulder. “Bella?” His voice was drowned in a roar of fireworks behind them, the glow from the explosions glinted on her chestnut hair, looking like tendrils of fire running down her long braid to match the flames on her fingers. If anything, his voice added to the noise only seemed to further her negative reactions. She let out an inaudible whimper and clutched at her ears harder to block out the sounds, flashes were detonating on her closed eyelids, sending stabbing pains through her eyes that increased the pounding in her head. She was trembling uncontrollably, unable to prevent the involuntary muscle spasms that jolted in reaction to every firework that exploded. She didn’t know why she was reacting the way she was, only that she couldn’t control it. Her brain felt fuzzy; something was wrong, something was missing, like her neurons had no track to run on, and the detonations around her seemed to throw into sharp relief the fact that her head felt empty, the gears in her mind felt sorely out of sync with something.   
“We need to get her inside,” Steve said, as loud as he dared to be heard over the celebratory fireworks. Tony’s nod was a panicked jerk of his head, having completely sobered upon seeing Bellona’s reaction to the fireworks. His utter confusion was threatening to paralyze him, however. He couldn’t understand it; Bella loved fireworks, always had, always did.  
Knowing Tony was completely useless to help from his frozen state, Steve met Clint’s eyes and Hawkeye stepped forward with the Captain. The pair carefully reached a hand down and grasped Bellona’s upper arm on each side, gently pulling her to her feet. She showed no awareness to their touch, her focus was entirely internal, and she seemed to be ignorant of her physical reactions resulting from the turmoil in her head.  
They had half-carried, half-dragged Bellona Drager back towards the doors leading to the inside of the tower when the fireworks finale began. At the sudden increase in the roar of the explosions, Bellona’s eyes flew open and she gasped, dropping her hands from ears, flames snarled to life around her hands, lashing out at anyone and anything near her, and Steve and Clint were forced to drop the girl. The fire that had burst from her hands was so hot, it sucked all the moisture from the air around her and sent everyone scrambling away from her. Thor had jumped forward and grabbed both Cap and Clint, dragging them away from the girl, Clint desperately attempting to put out the flames that had caught on his sleeve, Cap quickly turning to help him. Pepper and Natasha had both turned and dropped, shielding their faces from the sudden explosion of heat. Bellona herself tumbled to the floor helplessly, a scream escaping from her lips as the noise of the firework explosions threatened to overwhelm her, it was knocking against her empty brain like a floodwater against a flimsy wooden door, threatening to burst through and destroy what was inside, except she felt that there wasn’t anything inside but a muddy puddle of ghost-like memories and vague emotions that she had just stepped in, barely getting her feet wet.  
It took both Pepper and Natasha shouting at him for Tony to beckon a suit to him. The red and gold armor adhered to his body instantly, although it felt like ages as he watched Bellona let out dry sobs on the floor of the top of the Avengers Tower while fire hot enough to melt steel whipped around her like a fiery twister. Shouting for Thor to clear the way from the roof to the swimming pool a few floors down, he hoped the flames Bella had produced didn’t possess the capability to burn through his armor before he let the mask drop over his face and he flew towards the girl.


	19. January 6, 2013

“Since when did you like snooping around my labs?”  
Bellona Drager jumped up, taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of Tony Stark in one of the research labs in the Avengers Tower. He was casually strolling towards her, hands in his pockets, appearing slightly puzzled but more so curious.  
“Since I realized how much of a goddamn nerd you were,” Bellona replied, swiftly scooping up her finished products and sliding them into the pocket of her leather jacket. The real answer would have been since he dropped her unceremoniously into the swimming pool to extinguish the fire that whipped itself into being when she had panicked in the face of the New Year’s fireworks.  
“You realized that the minute you could formulate words,” Tony joked, sliding into a wheeled chair and pushing himself along the aisle of the lab, coming to a rest on the opposite side of the lab table Bellona stood before.  
“Yes, well, I didn’t realize how much of a grandiose nerd you’d become,” she gestured around to the high-tech machinery around the lab.  
“What were you even doing?” Tony asked, staring confusedly at the table before her — it was completely empty, no tools, no marks, no evidence of anything having been experimented on or with.  
“I wasn’t doing anything,” she didn’t know why she lied to him, something in her mind wanted to keep her undertakings to herself.  
“Well in that case, seeing as we both can’t sleep at, what is it — three in the morning? There’s been some things I’ve wanted to discuss with you.”  
“Like what?” Bellona asked nervously, slowly dropping into the other wheeled chair nearest her and gliding it along the floor to she could sit across from Tony. She hoped it wouldn’t have anything to do with her little accident on top of the Tower. The Avengers had seemingly decided between themselves that they were not to discuss the events of that night.  
“Jarvis,” Tony swiveled in his chair as he addressed his robotic servant, “pull up all files on Bellona Drager.”  
“Right away, sir,” the electronic voice replied and the air shimmered before the two, glowing into a screen with newspapers, headlines, documents, everything related to the search query.   
“As you can see,” Tony waved a hand over the results; the most glaring statement from all sources was the death of the Drager’s daughter. “You’re dead. Or at least, in the eyes of the world you are. We’re gonna keep you that way.”  
“Good,” Bellona nodded, “I want to remain dead. But who already knows that I’m not?”  
“Us, Fury, SHIELD, so a-k-a, no one who will leak it to the public and media,” Tony replied, shifting through the search results with an agile hand. “Another thing is…. The Drager family assets….” He pulled up official looking bank statements, “you were the heir to the Drager fortune, but seeing as you’re dead it went to the closest thing.… Me, because no one could figure out the legal shitshow of a will your dad had created, and everyone just went with it when I stepped up to take it before the government could claim everything. So I took over the almost ludicrous amount of money accumulated through the years, along with all property that was owned by your family. Now, here’s the snag: you’re not actually dead. But the world thinks you are. So, my idea is, well, was, because I’ve already done it all, is to transfer all assets to an anonymous account in the Stark Secure Server and give you access to it. I’ll keep the property in my name until you figure out what you want to do with it, and when you want to pull a Lazarus and come back from the dead. But….” He paused to whip out a thin card along with a cell phone and slide them across the table to her. She looked down at them curiously. “You’ll have access to whatever amount of cash or financial assets you desire from your rightful accounts, wherever you may be. I find it’s useful. The transactions won’t be picked up by the major banks, in fact, they won’t be picked up by anyone, unless they’re smart enough to hack my servers, which is basically impossible unless you’re me. And the phone I designed myself, obviously. It’s impossible to be traced, except maybe by Jarvis. That means no caller ID, if you know what that is…. No one will know it’s you calling them. All essential numbers have already been inputted into it, including mine, Romanoff’s, Rogers’, though I’m not sure he knows how his phone works, even Fury’s if you care to call him. I’ve also taken the liberty to upgrade it with a few other tricks that you might find useful if you feel like better acquainting yourself with the twenty-first century.”  
“Oh….” was all Bellona could murmur, taking both into her hands and studying them. It felt so familiar, Tony designing and giving her gadgets to play with.  
“What else was there….” Tony muttered, spinning in his chair as he thought, “oh, yeah…. Don’t get too mad about this, but Romanoff and I took the further liberty of beginning to design a.… what does Rogers call it — a uniform.”  
“A what?” Her face was blank. “Why do I need a uniform?”  
“Well, you know, for when we go and kick ass — the Avengers, that is.”  
“Wait…. You…. You want me to join the Avengers?”  
“Well, yeah, eventually. I think it would be super badass.”  
“....No.”  
“What do you mean? Why not?”  
“I don’t want to join the Avengers, Tony,” Bellona said firmly, slipping the card and phone into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the still warm metal in the same pocket.  
“But-”  
“No,” she tapped her left wrist with a judgmental finger, flashing the brands at him. “The world looks up to you, you’re all superheros, you go and save the world from darkness and destruction. Tony…. I’ve been hand-in-hand with darkness and destruction for years. My M.O. is darkness and destruction…. I mean, Jesus, Tony, look at what happened on New Year’s…. Yeah, maybe it was PTSD as Cap claims it was, but I still gave Clint second degree burns and could have incinerated the entire tower.... I can barely control my emotions, much less my powers…. Do you really think the world wants that as part of their ultimate fighting force representing all that is supposed to be good in the world?”  
Tony sighed, slapping a hand down onto the table with a grudging acceptance of this response from the blue-eyed girl. He shouldn’t have brought it up, it was too soon, but he had been excited and caught up in the moment. “Okay, fine. Fury probably wouldn’t even allow it anyways…. For now at least. And that was probably Barton’s fault because Cap was fine, but that might be the whole super serum thing…. However….” He turned back towards the screen. “Jarvis, pull up what we’ve designed for Bella so far.” Tony Stark glanced back towards Bellona Drager, hoping she’d have the reaction he expected. “I think you’re gonna want these.”

“Okay, I want them,” Bellona sighed after a half hour of Tony revealing the high-tech, gadget equipped outfits joint-designed by him and Natasha, who, he claimed, he only let help him design them because she demanded it and he liked living on this earth.   
“Knew it,” Tony’s grin had a twisting of staggering relief in it. “They’ll be done by the end of the week, that is, if you don’t have any suggestions or improvements yourself.”  
“Oh, I will,” Bellona informed him, rising up from the comfy swivel seat, pulling out the cellphone he had just given her and tapping it. “I’ll let you know. But right now, it’s o-five-hundred. I need coffee, maybe sleep, then coffee. In that order.”   
“You know, you always liked to use military time,” a wistful tone of remembrance was in Tony’s voice, “but you never used it when talking to someone…. You used to translate it in your head.”  
“I don’t remember the last part,” she grumbled, pushing the chair away and heading towards the lab door. Tony was constantly discussing her proclivities and predispositions before she had been kidnapped by Hydra, so much so that it was beginning to irritate her, particularly when she did not know whether he was right or wrong because she could not remember. “Why’s the door locked?” She demanded, tugging on the lab door which refused to open.  
“Oh, it’s always locked from both sides,” Tony said, although a hint of suspicion crept into his words, as he wondered how she had managed to get into the lab in the first place. He had been too distracted by what he wanted to show her to ask. “You can use the phone to unlock it, that’s one of the nifty features I added.”  
Bellona shot him a hard look and deliberately placed her hand over the knob; staring directly at him she said, “I don’t need technology to unlock a door, Tony.” The door clicked under the palm of her hand and she jerked it open, leaving a baffled Tony Stark alone in his lab. First the fireworks, now the phone, both things she should have been delighted by. He was relieved she’d appreciated the outfits, because the Bellona Drager he knew decades ago would have. Sighing to himself, he drummed his fingers against the lab table before him anxiously, pondering what Hydra could have done to her to make her eyes seem so empty all the time.  
Once outside and well away from Tony, Bellona Drager pulled out the reason she had been in the research lab. Clutched in her hand were two custom-fit bracelets, made of a shining, reforged metal and military-grade paracord, the materials braided over each other with expert skill. Quietly, she slipped one onto each of her wrists, feeling the familiar sudden restriction in the back of her mind at the sudden inhibition of power and coming to a bitter realization that Hydra had been right about one thing.


	20. January 30, 2013

“Stark, I always knew you were a liar. But this is a new level of lying. National security was an issue and you deliberately withheld the truth.”  
“What the hell?” It was becoming Bellona Drager’s most frequently used phrase. She was giving Nick Fury a look of complete disgust. He had unexpectedly showed up at the Avengers Tower and confronted Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton about the secret they’d been keeping for a month: her.  
“What the hell, is right,” Fury said, not looking at the girl but keeping his gaze fixed on a deeply annoyed Tony Stark. “Have you been babysitting her since you snuck her out of SHIELD?”  
“Okay, first of all, Nick,” Tony’s voice was cold and aggressive, “please explain how national security was an issue. Second, no we haven’t been babysitting Bella, we’ve been preventing you from getting your greasy little hands on her so you wouldn’t stick her back in cryo.”  
“National security is an issue when you let an enhanced weapon loose in New York,” Fury spoke as though the girl he was referring to was absent. “And that decision came from an upper level-”  
“Enhanced weapon?” Steve was appalled, “she’s a kid.”  
“She was born in 1973, Captain. It’s 2013. I don’t know if that constitutes as being a ‘kid’ in your understanding-”  
“What do you want, Fury?” Tony didn’t bother mitigating his irritation at the director’s presence.  
“First I want to know how you’ve kept her invisible from the entire world, including SHIELD and myself.”  
“Oh, you mean that time last week when you showed up and got pissed when I wasn’t here?” Bellona jumped in, “it’s because I was invisible.” She had quietly slipped off a bracelet and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture; the others in the room watched her completely vanish before their eyes. “Boom,” she said loudly as she reappeared across the room, making everyone involuntarily jump. Tony rolled his eyes at her antics while Nick looked as though his suspicions had been confirmed.  
“So,” Tony began again, spreading his arms as though inviting Fury to fight him, “what else do you want?”  
“Nothing, in fact,” this seemed to throw the entire room into befuddlement. “I came to tell you all that SHIELD has made a collective decision to essentially leave Bellona Drager alone. That is, you all,” he paused and pointed around the room at everybody present, “as probably the people most qualified to deal with such threats, are now in charge of her. Any mishaps and it’s your responsibility. SHIELD is going to ignore the fact that Bellona Drager did not actually die in 1991. So you can continue to play house and babysit a powderkeg that you’ve all become disturbingly fond of in the course of a month. SHIELD won’t interfere, that is, unless national security is threatened in some way.”


	21. February 1, 2013

“What the hell,” Bellona whistled when Clint Barton slapped down a heavy binder before her and Natasha Romanoff and then tossed several rectangular plastic cases which she was informed were known as DVDs and had movies on them, on top of the binder. “It was only twelve years.”  
“Yeah well if you had to choose any twelve years to be in cryo, you chose the worst,” Clint announced, dropping into the chair across from her in the large gathering area of the Avengers Tower. “Pop culture has exploded. I'm probably not the best to be explaining all this to you seeing as I can't keep track of it myself. There’s a new social media platform every week.”   
“What is ‘Snapchat’?” Bellona ignored his drivel and had begun flipping through the binder he’d tossed before her. Despite her accidentally burning half the flesh on his arm off a few months ago, Clint was the only Avenger who could give her mouth a run for its money, as a result they’d formed a bond which Tony claimed could only be forged between two “sarcastic assholes”.  
“I've heard about that too,” Steve said, jogging down the stairs to join the group. “I don't get it.”  
“I explained that to you, Rogers,” Natasha sighed, leaning back in her chair and giving the Captain a disappointed look.   
“Something with pictures, but you said all the other…. What are they called, social media? Have pictures too, so what makes them all so different?”  
“Wait the world was supposed to end on December 21, 2012?” Bellona interrupted, “according to the Mayans? What the hell? Who comes up with this stuff?”  
Natasha closed her eyes and let out an almost inaudible groan. Then she reached forward and took the binder from Bellona’s hands. She flicked it back open towards the beginning as the blue-eyed girl had opened it up at random, and pushed it across the table to where both Steve and Bellona could see it. “Barton and I spent almost two weeks making this for you so you wouldn't have to stop at the sight of every novelty and ask an inordinate amount of questions. Use it.”  
“Geez okay, mother,” Bellona grumbled but her grin betrayed her tone as she turned her attention to the binder before her.   
Bellona finished scouring the binder before Steve, as she found herself well acquainted with the events that happened between 1945 and 1991. She shuffled through the absurd pile of movies Clint had dumped upon them, with the claim that they were required to watch all. She had watched four of them when she whipped out the cellphone Tony had given her and dialed Clint’s number.   
He picked up the phone without speaking, the way he always did when he didn't know who was calling.   
“It's me,” Bellona said, twisting her braid around her fingers and watching the paused movie screen from one of the leather couches.   
“Is this going to be a stupid question because-”  
“No it's not this is a serious problem, well I wouldn't call it a problem, but it's serious. Like questioning one’s identity serious.”  
“What?”  
“Okay, hear me out now. Do you know that scene in Mulan where the general’s son shoots the arrow to the top of the pole — no, shut up, this is a legitimate question — can you can do that?”  
“Are you serious?” Steve’s voice came from across the room, he was attempting to Google something he'd come across in the binder but had heard Bellona’s request and found it ludicrous.  
“He hung up on me,” Bellona tossed her phone across the couch where it bounced against the arm and tumbled down onto the cushion. “Son of a bitch probably can't — wait!” The phone had buzzed, sounding an incoming text message. Bellona lunged across the couch and snatched up her phone, opening the message immediately.   
“Oh…. My God….”   
“What?” Steve rose from the table and approached the couch where Bellona had flung herself.   
“Look,” she was almost unable to control her laughter as a shaking hand held up the phone for him to view the picture Clint had just sent: it was a telephone pole with a lone arrow sticking out of it from the top.


	22. March 15, 2013

“Who’s this?” Bellona Drager strolled into the lab where Tony Stark was engrossed in an intense discussion with another man; she detected a subtle aura of potential energy around him, and she was giving him a curious glance as she carried her coffee cup towards them, looking imminently bored.  
“Shut up, Bella, we’re busy,” Tony didn’t even look at her, his eyes glued to the screen before them. “Thing is, it would need an energy source strong enough to power it….”  
“-there’s no way you can manage that level of energy…. Hi….” Tony’s companion had turned at Bellona Drager’s entrance and looked at her with a scrutinizing glance.  
“Hi,” she replied brightly, coming to stand beside Tony and stare at the screen they were obsessing over. “Who’re you?”  
“Um, I’m Bruce Banner….”  
“Doctor Bruce Banner,” Tony clarified, tearing his eyes from the screen and settling them on Bellona in annoyance. “And this is Bellona Drager.”  
Banner looked from the grinning girl to Tony Stark and then back to Bellona, completely dumbfounded. “Wait, I’m sorry, did you say — Drager?”  
“Yes.” Tony rolled his eyes at the expression on Bellona’s face.  
“But, wait, I thought…. Wasn’t the entire Drager family killed years ago?”  
“Not that one,” Tony nodded at the girl before them. “Remember that mission we had that you didn’t go on? The results are before you. We found her in a Hydra facility, in freaking Siberia. She’s been here ever since.”  
“Did you say a Hydra-”  
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Bellona plunked her coffee onto the nearest lab table and clapped her hands over her ears in a childish motion. “All you have to know is that I’m not dead, don’t tell anyone I’m not dead, and don’t piss me off.”  
“The last point applies to myself as well,” Banner said sardonically.  
“Oh!” Bellona dropped her hands in excitement, realizing why she sensed something beyond his geeky science nerd looks. “You’re the…. The…. green one!”  
“There are other ways to describe it, but I suppose that would be accurate.”  
“Why are you bothering us, Bella?” Tony interrupted, tapping a few spots on the screen before him, flicking his eyes over to briefly glance at her.  
“I’m waiting for Steve to show up,” she said, squinting at the formulas and diagrams on the hologram screen. “Then we’re gonna go see the Statue of Liberty.”  
“Wait,” Tony’s hand paused over the screen, “who’s chaperoning?”  
“We don’t need a chaperone,” Bellona’s voice was that of an irritated child who wanted a taste of unsupervised freedom. “But Natasha’s coming too.”  
“Good,” he said, continuing with whatever he was doing on the screen, “wouldn’t want two living anachronisms getting lost in New York City. You guys would end up in the middle of Long Island Sound or falling off the Brooklyn Bridge.”  
“Rogers is from Brooklyn,” she said, miffed.  
“Rogers is from nineteen forty-five,” Tony fired back, raising a taunting eyebrow at her, as though challenging her to argue with him. “Him traveling through New York today is like traveling through the colony on Mars.”  
Bellona paused, a strange look coming over her face, the look she would get when she didn’t know what was true or not. A hand rubbed at the pale scar on her neck as she glanced worriedly at Tony. “We don’t…. Have a colony on Mars…. Do we….?”  
“Not yet.”  
“Okay good,” she sounded relieved. “I would hope space technology hadn’t advanced that much since I’ve been gone. But, return to what you were doing, I’ll try and not make too many sarcastic-” she paused and pulled the razor thin phone from her pocket, eyeing the glowing screen before looking up at Tony and grinning. “My chaperone and fellow anachronism are here. Later, Stark, Dr. Banner,” she nodded at each of them and whirled her way out of the lab as quickly as she’d come in.  
“I met James and Maria Drager when I was in college….” Banner mused after a moment of silence between two. “She is not what I expected their daughter to be like.”  
“In what way?” Tony asked curiously.  
“Well…. I thought she’d be taller.”


	23. July 4, 2013

“This is a testament to how stupid the Nazis are,” Bellona Drager’s voice rang through the kitchen of the Avengers Compound where Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Tony Stark were sitting around the island bar, cups of coffee and plates of food before them; they were watching the girl with the long braid and an American flag bandana prance about holding Captain America’s shield. “Or were. I mean, look at it. Look at it. It’s roughly the size of a dinner plate, it doesn’t shield your whole body-”  
“It’s bigger than a dinner plate!” Steve protested, slightly offended.  
Bellona held the shield up and studied it. “Maybe. But still. Why don’t people just aim for your legs? You’re much taller than me anyways.” She turned the shield in a defensive position as though an invisible enemy was shooting at her. “Look! Practically my entire lower body is defenseless. Nat could blow out both my knee caps with two shots from where she’s sitting, and boom — Captain America is useless if he can’t walk.”  
“I’ll remember that for next time,” Tony announced, and Steve shot him an irritated look. “Go for his legs.”  
“Why didn’t they just make you a vibranium suit?” Bellona asked, swinging the shield about like it was a toy. “Wait, why didn’t you make your suit out of vibranium?” She looked pointedly at Tony, arching an eyebrow in an aristocratic, judgemental movement.  
“Do you know how expensive vibranium is?”  
“It can’t be that expensive, especially not for you, seeing as they’ve went and made a goddamn shield the size of a dinner plate to be thrown like a frisbee out of it. Is this paint? Does it chip?”  
“All the time,” Steve replied with slight amusement. Watching Bellona play with his shield was like watching a puppy romp around with a tennis ball.  
“Do you repaint it yourself? What happens if it dents? Wait, throw something at me, I wanna see if it works!” Bellona mischievously faced the shield towards the island where the three sat, ducking her head behind it, then peeking around it to eye them.  
Steve reached forward, grabbed a handful of grapes from the large fruit tray in the middle of the island, and flung them at her. They bounced off the shield easily, falling and rolling about the floor around her.   
“Boring!” Bellona snickered, popping her head over the shield, “throw a knife or something!”  
“No, we’re not throwing knives around,” Natasha said firmly, shaking her head at the pair. Steve continued flinging grapes across the room, as Bellona dashed about, pretending to roleplay as Captain America while running commentary all the while.   
“-under enemy fire — it’s a good thing Cap has his trusty shield — and no offensive weapons at all — unless he wants to forego his only form of defense and throw his dinner plate, that is, his shield, at them — I mean, literally no weapons at all, how he’s managed to survive this long — why don’t you carry a gun — enemy fire increasing—” Tony had joined in, throwing grapes across the room at Bellona, who was beginning to laugh so hard she could scarcely hold the shield up to allow the fruit to bounce off.  
“Okay, stop, stop, stop!” She howled, sinking to her feet and huddling behind the shield. The bombardment of fruit slowed to a halt.  
“She’s almost small enough to hide behind it entirely if she does that,” Natasha observed with amusement, “too bad Rogers can’t do that.”  
“I think she just called you obese, old man,” Tony remarked to Steve, who frowned at this.  
“He doesn’t like to be called that,” Bellona popped her head up over the shield and smirked at the three. “He prefers the term, ‘senior citizen’.”  
Steve dropped his head onto a hand in exasperation, although his lips were curling up into a laugh. Natasha smiled in silent mirth while Tony took the phrase and ran with it.  
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, our dear elderly friend, would you like your eggs cooked softer so you can eat them with your dentures? Is it time for your meds? Where’s your walker — or do you prefer a cane?”  
“Alright,” Steve held a hand up, though he was smiling, “I get it. I’m old.”  
“Ancient,” Bellona added.  
“Antiquated,” Tony nodded.  
“A fossil,” Natasha slipped into the conversation and Steve gave her an annoyed look.  
“Not you too.”  
“Sorry,” she smiled, “it’s not everyday you turn ninety-five.”


	24. November 4, 2013

Glass shattered on the floor of the Avengers Towers in New York City. The clock had just struck seven in the morning; Bellona Drager had dropped her coffee. 

“Sir, I’d advise you to wake up immediately.”  
“Shut up, Jarvis.” Tony Stark rolled over in his bed and stuffed his head under a pillow, trying to block out the voice of his automated servant. He’d spent all of last night trying to design something that Bella would like for her birthday and all he’d come up with was a bunch of gadgets she would laugh at and call junk; he wished Pepper were here, maybe she, as a female, would have some idea of what the hell Bella would appreciate. Females were so weird. You think you know them, then they prove you wrong. You think they’re dead, then they prove you wrong.  
“Sir, this is a matter of utmost importance.”  
“Then wake up someone important.”  
“I am. You.”  
“Wake up someone else.”  
“Nobody else is here.”  
“Good.”  
There was a brief silence, during which Jarvis let out what resembled a sigh and Tony began to sink back into sleep, but was jolted out of it by Jarvis’s next words. “Miss Drager has fainted in the middle of the kitchen-”  
“She what?!” Tony shot up and promptly tumbled off the bed from the suddenness of his actions. “What do you mean, she fainted?”  
“Is unconscious.”  
“What happened?!” Tony struggled to untangle himself from the sheets and pillows that had fallen to the floor with him. “Where is she?”  
“She’s in the kitchen, about to drink her seventeenth cup of coffee in the past twenty-four hours. She hadn’t slept at all last night, sir.”  
“Maybe if she didn’t drink so much caffeinated garbage she wouldn’t have fainted,” Tony grumbled as he ran a hand threw his hair, shaking himself awake, and bolting out of the room to find the girl he still saw as his little sister.

“Bella!” Tony shouted as he barrelled down into the kitchen and across the polished floor to drop to his knees by the girl’s side. Unconscious would not exactly describe her state. She was trembling on the floor, shivers spasming through her nerves like she was being zapped with electrical currents, her fingers clenching and unclenching of their own accord, small cuts and gashes were on her hands from the glass she’d fallen into when she had dropped her glass of coffee, and the caramel-colored liquid had spread out around her like a pool of blood. But her eyes were wide open and motionless, as though they were seeing something beyond the ceiling, beyond the reality she was in at the moment. Her pupils had shrunk in diameter, her irises having encroached upon them, shining such a brilliant blue it was almost painful to look directly at them. The scar on her neck appeared whiter than ever against her quivering muscles.

She awoke to voices around her.  
“Thor did what-”  
“-alignment of planets or some shit-”  
“Shut up! She’s awake!”  
First thing she did was reach over and tear out the IV needle protruding from her arm. This initiated a reaction from those around her.  
“Bella, no!”  
“Ahhh, I knew she was gonna do that!”  
“Dammit, Bella!”  
Then she ripped off the oxygen mask that had arrogantly thought itself necessary to pump air in and out of her lungs. “Will you shut up and tell me what happened?”  
“You fainted — well, I wouldn’t call it fainted, but you had a total spasm attack and-” Tony snapped his mouth shut when she held up a hand and shot him a glare with bloodshot blue eyes.   
“I don’t care what happened to me, what did Thor do?”  
“Some portal was opened,” Natasha, whom Bellona had just spotted opposite Tony, along with Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, and Steve Rogers, answered her demand. “Because of the realms of the universe aligning.”  
“So you know, some whackjob from outer space tried to destroy everything,” Clint continued with a roll of his eyes, “and had to come to Earth to do it. You’d think Earth was the center of every universe with the amount of times aliens have taken an interest in it.”  
“Thor managed it alright,” Tony commented, “didn’t have to call in the rest of the team, although, I wish he had.”  
“I don’t,” came Banner’s short remark and everyone turned to shoot him a glance. “What?”  
“Anyways,” Tony coughed, “what’s the matter with you?”  
“What do you mean?” Bellona demanded, flicking her eyes around the room and evidently only just realizing she was in an enclosed hospital-like patient room.  
“You, as I said before, had a complete spasm attack,” Tony explained, looking less than happy, “didn’t calm down until we sedated you. And even then you kept having epileptic fits.”  
“You sedated me?” Her voice was ragged and harsh and everyone flinched at the raw anger it contained.   
“Knew she wasn’t gonna like it,” Steve winced and looked down at the floor.  
“We didn’t know what to do!” Tony defended his decision with the ardent passion stemming from the concern for someone he viewed as the last of his family.  
“What the hell, Tony,” Bellona growled, then glared around at the others in the room, who were trying their best not to meet her eyes. “What else happened while you sedated me?”  
“This,” Steve held out a tangled mess of black cords, and she recognized them immediately as the military-grade paracord she had interwoven with the remnants of the Hydra chain link metal to create her bracelets.  
“Shit,” she hissed and her eyes flew down to her wrists, where the twisted and braided metal still clung to her skin, looking frayed and stripped of elegance but still carrying out their task.   
“They fell out of their own accord,” Natasha explained as Steve dropped them into Bellona’s waiting palm. “The amount of energy surging through this room was….”  
“Insane,” Banner said with a nod of his head.  
“Pretty much,” the redhead cleared her throat, “so much so that the cords sprung off before they could….”  
“Melt,” Tony’s input was almost taunting.  
Bellona looked around at them all and nodded to herself, her eyes far away as she perused this event. It meant the levels of energy that had wracked her body had been inordinately high, and the Hydra metal had been the only thing standing between it and anyone and anything around her. She unconsciously rubbed the scar on her neck the way she was apt to do when nervous, then met the stares of those around her. “Why are you all here?”  
“Because you’ve been unconscious for over fifteen hours,” Tony’s voice was irritable, as though Bellona had been playing a dirty trick on him the whole time.  
“Oh, I wonder why,” her reply was brutally sarcastic and she glowered at him. “So — what, you were worried about me, or Fury wanted the Earth’s best quick response team on hand in case I blew the city up?”  
“I don’t think I really qualify as part of the Earth’s best quick response team-”  
“Shut up, Banner, we get it, you’re insecure about your anger issues.”  
“He’s not the only one with anger issues,” Clint’s comment went unappreciated by Bellona, who shot him a glare so ruthless it put the one she sent Tony to shame.  
“Fury actually doesn’t even know about your little epileptic scene,” Tony swung back to the vitriolic question. “And I wasn’t gonna tell him.”  
“Nick’s dealing with Thor’s little fiasco of almost destroying the universe in England right now,” Natasha added, “I doubt he wants to know you could have flattened New York simultaneously.”  
“We can always let him know, if you’d like.” The Cap knew what exact reaction his words would have on her.  
“No, Steve,” Bellona rolled her eyes, her fiery attitude defused, she looked down at the limp cords from her bracelets in her hand, then she glanced up at Tony, a slight grin tugging at her lips because of the warm familiarity of her next statement. “You wanna repair something for me?” And she unclamped what was left of the two metal bracelets on her wrists, holding out the various cords and metal towards him.  
“Only if it can be your birthday present because I haven’t been able to think of anything you’d actually like and use.”  
He watched her eyes widen at his words as her expression grew lone and vacant, and he knew he’d begun treading in deep water that he had Hydra to blame for. “My birthday….”  
“It’s in a few weeks, Bella,” Tony said quietly, noting the others shift uncomfortably around them. How she could fail to recall her birthday but not her love for coffee was beyond his understanding, but stumbling upon another black hole in her memory and personality had become an almost daily event. “It’s the twenty-third….”  
“Oh,” Bellona murmured, watching him breathlessly with her faraway, empty eyes. “Of course it is….”


	25. November 23, 1988

‘It works!” Bellona Drager’s excited gasp was answered with a smirk as Tony Stark’s face appeared on the screen she held between her hands.   
“Of course it does,” his voice was arrogantly pleased. “I built them.”  
“What even is it?” She asked, studying the rectangular screen that had arrived in the mail for her the day before, with nothing but a handwritten note instructing her to be looking at it on November twenty-third at seven o’clock PM. There was no return address on the package, but she had recognized the handwriting.  
“I haven’t thought of an exact name yet, these are only the prototypes.”  
“You gave me a prototype as a birthday present!” She faked incredible offense.  
“It’s a very nice prototype!” He protested through the screen, “you should see what the morons in my dorm built, some sort of primitive walkie-talkie— I hacked their software so it’ll translate anything they say into Pig-Latin on the receiving end, and it took them a month to figure it out.”  
“I bet they didn’t like that.”  
“Oh don’t worry, they never knew it was me who hacked it. But what you’re holding is in its own class, its own category of technological communication. So, happy birthday, Bella.”  
“Well then thank- wait…. Are you…. Downstairs?”  
“No, what’re you talking about?” Tony’s face suddenly moved closer to the screen to hide his surroundings. “I’m in my dorm.”  
“Bismarck,” Bellona looked up from the screen to the German Shepherd lying at the bottom of her bed. Her dog perked his amber ears up at the sound of his name and looked at her with intelligent golden eyes. “Greet Tony.”  
The dog barked and hopped off the bed and to the plush carpet floor, wagging his tail as he shot out of the ajar door and down the hall.   
“I still don’t know how you trained that dog,” Tony’s voice came from the rectangular screen as she laid back onto her pillows and held the device above her.   
“He loves me, I love him,” she replied as though it were a simple mathematical equation. “We have a mutual understanding between us.”  
“It’s like he’s part human or something, some hybrid freak dog,” Tony muttered and then rolled his eyes when the dog’s barking suddenly emitted through his screen. “Okay, I’m in your house, yes. How’d you know?”  
“Bookshelves in the background,” her voice rang out triumphantly in explanation and she jumped up into a sitting position. “What’re you doing here?”  
“I’m staying for Thanksgiving,” he explained, allowing her German Shepherd to jump onto the loveseat beside him and show his snout on the screen for her to see. Bellona laughed and praised the dog through the screen, who responded with a happy yap.   
“Why who invited you?” The fifteen year-old girl asked with a teasing cackle.  
“Your parents,” Tony responded, “I think my mom’s coming too. Dad’s busy or something.”  
“I’m sure no one’s surprised about that,” she said quietly, then allowed a grin to spring onto her face. “So when are you making the next model of these?”  
He returned the grin enthusiastically. “I’m already working on them…. Christmas present sound good?”


	26. January 15, 2014

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Bellona Drager announced as she flounced into the large, airy gym in one of the floors of the Avengers Tower. “If I knock any of you out, that person is now obligated to buy me coffee, whenever I feel like it.”  
“Knock out as in unconscious, or the boxing type of knockout?” Natasha asked, twirling a strand of her hair around her fingers as Tony rolled his eyes while wrapping his hands and Steve simply laughed to himself. Clint had opted out of the boxing matches the group had planned for that day, but still came to watch, smirking and making snide comments that were entirely audible to everyone despite how low his voice sank.   
“Either!” Bellona grinned, skipping towards the large boxing ring that was centered in the room and slipping under the ropes surrounding it. She turned back to face the three others. “Who’s first?”  
“Me,” Tony volunteered, hopping into the ring after her. “I’ll go easy on you.”  
“I think you should take a seat with Agent Barton over there,” Bellona teased him, “because you’re about to get your ass kicked.”  
“We’ll see about that,” Tony cracked his knuckles then gave her a stony look. “No cheating.”   
She held up her hands in compliance, clearly showing the glinting silver bracelets that Tony had repaired for her. They were now twice as thick as they’d been before, allowing them to conceal the snarling brands on her wrists, the Hydra chain metal having been combined with titanium, the same material Tony’s suits were made of, they looked more like a bold but classical fashion statement rather than a preventive precaution, and, at Bellona’s vague and somewhat confusing request, would respond more to a metal touch than bare flesh, making it difficult for anyone, including herself, to snatch them off her wrists. It meant that Tony, using his metal suit, could more easily remove them from her wrists than she herself could.  
“No cheating on your part, either,” she threatened, pointing an accusing finger at him. “No suit.”  
“No suit,” he agreed, clapping his boxing gloves together and sinking into a defensive crouch.  
Bellona let out a mocking laugh. “You’re a literal old man. I’m going to hurt you.”  
“Did you just call me old?”  
“Yes,” she sniggered, “what are you gonna be — forty….”  
“Forty-four, if you really think that’s old, the elderly man over there is over ninety-five,” Tony jerked his head in Steve’s direction, who spread his hands out in irritation, annoyed his actual age was constantly being mocked. “And you just turned forty a few months ago, so quit it with the age jokes.”  
“But you look so old!”  
“Are you guys gonna fight or what?” Clint called from where he was lounging on the modern leather couches across the room. “I came here to be entertained.”  
“Yeah, Barton, put some music on, be useful,” Tony ordered, and Clint, muttering about how he ought to just become the official Avengers’ DJ and give up shooting arrows — why he shot arrows in the twenty-first century was still beyond him — toyed with the sound system controls embedded on the glass table before the couch until a steady beat bounced from the speakers and around the room.   
“If I break your entire body, maybe I’ll apologize,” Bellona warned Tony just before she charged him. He stepped out of the way, but she’d charged him with the exact intention of forcing him to step away, thus her actions did not go without results. She looped her arm around his and forced herself downwards and forwards, dropping into a roll, the leverage from which caused Tony to fly head over heels and land heavily on his back, groaning as the wind was knocked out of him. Bellona was on her feet instantly, smirking down at him.  
“Holy shit,” he breathed, “I wasn’t ready, that doesn’t count.”  
“You’re full of shit, Stark!” She snickered. He hadn’t even bothered to pull himself up. “Steve, can you at least give me a challenge?”  
“No, we’re not done!” Tony shot upwards, steadying himself on his feet, though still looking rather stunned.  
“Give it up, Stark,” Natasha announced from where she’d taken a seat next to Clint, “hand-to-hand isn’t your speciality.”  
“I could kick your ass any day, Bella,” Tony grumbled, though he grudgingly stepped out of the ring and slowly walked over to where Black Widow and Hawkeye were trying to hide their laughter.  
“Rogers!” Bellona called and Steve entered the ring, an amused expression on his face. “Rules are: don’t touch the face. Or head. I hate head contact. Don’t touch the head. Or the braid. Definitely do not touch the braid. Got it?”  
“I think so — don’t touch the head,” his lips twitched into a smile, “seems easy enough.”  
“Said Tony Stark,” Bellona smirked and jumped towards the super-soldier.  
The fight was much more equally matched, though neither were trying their hardest so as to not cause or obtain any serious injury. Though Steve had the advantage of power, Bellona possessed speed, and he failed to land a blow until quite a bit of her dodging and dancing around him. His boxing glove impacted her left shoulder, causing her to stumble backwards and hit the floor of the ring; she quickly rolled to her feet but found her back pressed against the ropes of the ring and Steve before her.  
“Okay,” she breathed, and his ready right hand dropped from its offensive position. “You won that one.”  
“You put up a good fight,” Steve informed her, tugging off his gloves and studying the girl with intriguing blue eyes. It hadn’t escaped his notice neither of them were very winded.  
“I could have tried harder,” she grinned at him, “so could you.”  
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” He asked curiously while Tony was fiddling with the speakers, searching for a song he wanted to listen to and criticizing Clint’s music choices.  
“Dunno,” she answered with a shrug, and Steve watched the grin slide off her face as her eyes grew solemn.  
“Well whoever taught you to fight knew what they were doing.”


	27. January 27, 1992

They’d been tracking the target for twenty-four hours. He was fleeing the country, traveling under various aliases and changing vehicles every three hours or so. Now he was five miles from the Ukrainian border and whipping down the empty two-lane highway in a battered pickup truck with only one working headlight and an engine that wheezed his presence.  
They had been awaiting his arrival at that lone stretch of road, foreseeing his escape route and plotting the only available course to him. A nondescript motorcycle with no license plate lay just behind the tree line on the edge of the highway, the intimidating figure of the masked Soldier stood beside it, one of multiple pistols casually grasped in his hand.  
The woods were silent. No wind stirred the tree boughs, no birds pealed their enjoyment of living, no animals scurried about, as if nature was omnisciently aware of impending events.  
The Soldier raised a hand, as though signalling someone, despite his solo appearance. His palm was vertical to the ground and he folded his thumb inwards in a decisive, permissive gesture.   
Across the highway, just inside the shadows of the forest, another figure descended from the branches of the trees, dropping noiselessly to the snow-covered, frozen ground like a paradoxical predator, its heinous intentions betraying its smooth grace.  
The sputtering truck was chugging along the poorly-paved road, the sole vehicle for miles around. The figures stood on either side of the highway, watching it approach with a nonchalant ease, as though they saw only their ends, not their means.  
Another gesture from the Soldier. A slight slashing of movement from across the road, and the pickup truck began to screech and slide upon the thick, slippery coating of ice that was birthed into being on the cracked asphalt of the road. The truck careened out of control, skidding around as its driver desperately attempted to break and found himself crashing into the trees on the opposite side of the highway from whence the ice had derived.   
Neither the Soldier or his polar accomplice had expected the driver to be armed to the extent he was. The moment the tall line of the Soldier stepped out of the darkness towards the smashed truck, a violent barrage of bullets from a submachine gun emerged from the driver’s side window and peppered the trees on the edge of the forest, sending the Soldier charging backwards through blasts of bark and leaves to avoid the assault, though he managed to raise the PSS pistol clutched in his hand and fire a single, silent shot.   
The driver found himself thanking whatever gods did exist when the 7.62 caliber bullet shattered his windshield and impacted his rearview mirror, sending it spinning into the cab of the truck, missing his head by centimeters.  
It wasn’t until he heard more glass splintering that he cut off the wild rattling of his submachine gun into the woods before him and jerked his head around to find himself staring into frozen blue eyes which seemed to mock him, that he knew the single shot fired hadn’t missed its target. He had thanked the gods but they were laughing at him now.   
She had snuck up on him without his knowledge, her movements undetected in the back of the truck because of the casualty of his rearview mirror. When the rain of bullets paused, the Soldier charged out of the woods towards the truck, the vehicle’s flimsy steel door crumbling like cardboard under the force of his metal arm.  
She might have been wearing a black mask that covered her face with the exception of her arresting eyes, but the driver felt that if the luminous blue eyes weren’t blankly submissive, they would have hinted that her lips were twisting into a sadistic smile. This was the last image branded into his screaming brain before two explosions hit him at the same time, one a bullet of burning, bloody, pain, the other an snowball of numbing, glacial, cold.


	28. February 26, 2014

Bellona Drager halted immediately upon entering the room, balking and refusing to take another step forward. “Nobody told me he was gonna be here.” Her gaze was directed at Nick Fury, who was standing in the middle of the Avengers usual meeting spot in the Tower, talking to a ponderous-looking Steve Rogers, who had his arms crossed as he listened to whatever the director of SHIELD was telling him.  
“And now I just did,” Fury turned to stare at her with his singular eye. “Good to see you too, Drager.”  
“What are you doing here?” She demanded, unfreezing herself and walking forward to stand before him. She was still suspicious of him, and from the look in his eye the feeling was mutual.  
“I’m here to ask you and Cap to come to the Triskelion in Washington.”  
“Wait…. what? Why?”  
“SHIELD operates out of the capital of this country, I don’t know if you noticed but this building is solely the Avengers Tower,” Fury’s voice was slow, as though he was talking to a child. “The way the real world works is that the country’s greatest agents don’t spend time babysitting people like you all day. Romanoff’s been in Washington for a few weeks now, I want you and Rogers to come down for a bit, as much as I hate to admit it, we could use your…. Background…. when it comes to filtering through the intelligence we have on the remnants of Hydra.”  
“Why do you want Cap to come too?”   
“Because he and Agent Romanoff are both going to be in charge of you, as well as assisting in any missions SHIELD may require their abilities in.”  
“What does Tony think of this?”  
“He said, and I quote, ‘ask Bella’,” Steve jumped into the conversation, his own opinion unintelligible from the masked look on his face.  
“I see,” Bellona said coolly, her eyes flicking back to Fury, she arched an eyebrow curiously. “Do I get to assist on any of these missions too?”  
“No,” both Steve and Fury replied firmly.  
“Why not?”  
“Tony knew you’d ask that,” Steve said with amusement, “and said he’d regret not allowing you to be put back in cryo if you were allowed to.”  
“Also you’re not qualified to,” Fury said bluntly.   
“Fine then,” she muttered, though evidently unimpressed with their answers. “I’ll go.”


	29. March 30, 2014

“Bellona Drager, meet Secretary Alexander Pierce.”   
She immediately hated the well-dressed, aging man with sharp eyes and glasses that made him look like every white male who held a position of power since King John ratified the Magna Carta. It was Face-Hate. The moment she saw his face, she hated him. So the blue-eyed girl smiled charmingly and shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Secretary Pierce.”  
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Drager,” his handshake was firm and domineering, so much so, she almost took it as a challenge; she was tempted to slip off the metal bracelet around her wrist and shake his hand again. “I must say I was utterly astonished when Nick told me about your survival and later discovery by the Avengers…. I had worked with your father quite a few times and his death was a great personal loss.”  
“Yes, it’s been quite surprising for everyone,” her solemn voice was incredibly fabricated, but neither he nor Nick Fury, who thought it would be a good idea to introduce the two, knew that.  
“Drager’s here on my request. I'm giving her my old office,” Fury jumped into his explanation, “the one down the hall from yours. She’ll be assisting our investigations into Hydra’s networks, seeing as she has…. Experience.”  
“Any friend of yours, Nick, is a friend of mine,” Pierce said jovially, but Bellona was watching his flashing eyes.   
“Oh, trust me,” Fury paced towards the door of Pierce’s office, then turned and gestured for the girl to follow. “We’re not friends.”  
Bellona nodded at Pierce, a fake smile plastered on her face, then followed Fury out, dropping the act and allowing disgust to filter through her features immediately upon departing the office.  
“Play nice with Pierce,” Fury ordered the appalled girl, eyeing her with his single good eye.   
“I play nice with everybody,” she argued, toying with her long braid in an almost threatening manner.   
“Any fool could tell you immediately decided to despise him on sight,” Fury snorted, “Alexander Pierce is one of the only people who might be trustworthy around here, so I suggest you reevaluate your opinion of him.”  
“I don't trust you so why should I value your opinion of someone else I don't trust,” she arched an eyebrow as they came to a stop outside an empty office. Glass walls and door surrounded it, though their slight tint suggested they would darken upon a need for privacy. Fury slid a key card into the lock outside the door, which clicked open, allowing the pair entrance. He then handed the card to Bellona.   
“He and myself are also the only people who have a key to this room, so don't do anything stupid or one of us will come and arrest you.”  
“I'd like to see you try,” Bellona’s smile was tauntingly sweet as she stepped into the room and surveyed it. Large, high-definition T.V.’s covered one wall, several dark leather couches faced them. Opposite these was a large, spacey desk, with several ultra thin monitors facing a single swivel chair. The first thing she did was sit in this chair, and test its swivel capacity. Finding it to her liking, she slowly turned in it and studied the room. She supposed it would do. It was modern, roomy, equipped with the latest technology — and she assumed this also meant various bugs and other camera and audio equipment designed to monitor her behavior.   
“I take it you like it,” Fury asked, walking over and flicking on the monitors. “We’ve given you access to all our leads on any potential underground Hydra bases, if you have any questions, ask Agent Romanoff. Don't bother me with it.”  
“Don't worry,” her chair glided towards the keyboard, “I won't.”   
“And don't just mess around on the Wikipedia page you created for yourself.”  
Bellona’s fingers dropped away from the keys, “how do you know about that?”   
“Everybody knows about that,” Fury said with a snort at her astonished expression. “Stark started doing the same thing. Edited his whole page as to how he’s something ridiculous — playboy, genius, philanthropist — the usual.”  
“Well,” the offended girl huffed, “I don’t use it to boost my own ego.”  
“Whatever,” Fury said disinterestedly, “just remember, you’re here at my own invitation, I expect you to carry through with what you’ve been assigned.”  
“Filter out Hydra, yeah, yeah, I got that,” she muttered, and pulled up her own Wikipedia page with a few clicks. She loved twenty-first century technology. Fury eyed the Drager girl for a moment before shaking his head and striding out. The door clicked shut behind him and Bellona looked up, watching his departure through the glass walls of the room. Then she turned around and stared directly at the wall behind her. There was a long, narrow lamp upon the wall, emitting a strong, sterile light throughout the room. Likely a camera or audio device hidden under it. Another would be near the couches, and one would be somewhere upon the desk, likely under it. She rolled her eyes and focused on the screen before her. Bellona had created a Wikipedia page for herself the year prior upon her discovery of the Internet. She used it to keep track of her life before Hydra. She had been delighted when some apparent old friends and classmates had stumbled upon it and began adding details, facts she couldn’t remember, memories she didn’t know she had. Tony Stark had spent quite a few hours adding a section on the Stark-Drager family history, how their parents were friends, how they had met, how apparently Bellona had begun bawling when three year-old Tony got to hold her as an infant when the two had first been introduced. That was in the “early life” section. The page only went until her late teenage years, because the world still believed Bellona Drager had perished in 1991.  
After scrolling through the page for a bit — it was beginning to grow formidably long — Bellona turned to what she was actually supposed to be doing, according to Fury. He wanted the former Hydra weapon to run through all the data SHIELD had on Hydra; their allies, their undercover agents, their facilities, and see if she could add to the list, or cross off false leads. Only problem was, she didn’t really know what Hydra had been up to the past twelve years or so while she was in cryo. In fact, Hydra essentially wasn’t supposed to even exist anymore, believed to have been disbanded when Captain America sent their leader, the Red Skull, straight to hell. Besides all this, half of the intelligence she needed or wanted to view was encrypted and inaccessible to her. Evidently, she did not have the authority to access 99% of the files on the database. So she pulled out her untraceable cell phone, courtesy of Tony Stark, and called Natasha.  
“Nat?” Bellona said when the Russian picked up without saying a word.  
“Yes, Bella?” She asked with a slight sigh when she realized who was calling.  
“Why don’t I have access to half of the stuff Fury wants me to look over?”  
“No one has access to half the stuff they probably should know,” she said, with a slight edge to her tone. “So just do what you can with what you have.”  
“Okay, but like.… I want to know what all this is….” Bellona groaned, well aware any audio device was recording this conversation. “What’s Project…. Nevermind, sorry I bothered you, gotta go.” She hastily ended the call and stared at the screen before her. All of SHIELD’s data seemed suspicious and at times, highly questionable. “Project Insight” was one of the largest files in the SHIELD database, yet it was virtually padlocked.   
She put this thought out of her mind and turned to searching through any SHIELD files related to herself. Querying her first and last name turned up no interesting results, which was logical, seeing as Fury had stated that SHIELD was going to pretend that she had actually died in 1991. She did, however, come across a file on an unnamed individual with Hydra connections and “enhanced abilities.” Other than that, the file was a dead end, leading nowhere and admitting no further information.  
After a bit more browsing through the database, Bellona closed down the system and left the office, leaving it empty and locked. The key card in her pocket, she was infuriated that Pierce would have full access to the room whenever he wished, though, then again, knowing it was bugged with audio and visual equipment didn’t make her feel any better. She would avoid it as much as she could. Fury be damned, she could do more research on Hydra with her own laptop that Tony had designed himself than in the Triskelion under SHIELD’s constant oversight.  
Muttering under her breath about how useless it was for her to even be in D.C. and how envious she was that Cap and Nat would get to go on all the fun missions while she would be stuck in the Triskelion under Fury’s harsh gaze, she breezed through the halls leading towards the elevator, until she whipped around a corner and walked right into someone.  
“Watch it!” Both her and whomever she had collided with snapped simultaneously, taking a few steps up and sizing up whoever it was.   
There wasn't much for Brock Rumlow to size up. He doubted she even came up to his shoulders, but that didn't mean she wasn't one of the hottest pieces of ass he’d ever laid eyes on, and definitely able to give Black Widow a run for her money, at least in the looks department.   
Rumlow thought he'd perfected the art of checking out a chick without their noticing it. Evidently, he hadn't.   
“My face is here,” she snapped, her voice sounding like an angry purr that somehow made her even more attractive.  
“Yes it is,” he replied immediately, shifting his eyes up to meet her own and freezing for a moment as he did so. Her eyes were so blue they initiated a double-take reaction from anyone, Rumlow being no exception.   
“Are you going to get out of my way?” There was a sliver of a threat in her tone but Rumlow ignored it. She was tiny, and despite looking intensely athletic, he could probably break her entire arm by squeezing too hard. She had to get carded at bars all the time.   
“Yeah I am,” he announced, stepping to the side but then falling into pace beside her as she headed towards the elevator at the end of the hall.   
“I thought you were going the other way,” she seemed slightly miffed that he was accompanying her.  
“Changed my mind,” Rumlow said suavely, his eyes flicking over her long chestnut braid and lightweight army-inspired olive drab jacket that gave her a tactical, militant air. Her pace was swift and determined, though he had no trouble keeping up with her.  
“Funny how that works,” it was meant to be a jab but he took it as evidence that she was giving him her attention, which was exactly what he wanted.  
“I haven’t seen you around SHIELD before,” he remarked casually, watching as her finger flashed out to call the elevator. He caught a glint of silver on her wrist before the sleeve of her jacket dropped back into place. “I’m Brock Rumlow. I head the STRIKE team.”  
“That’s good to know.” He would have called her a sarcastic bitch if he wasn’t absolutely smitten already. There was a sort of simmering energy about her that was better than a fast-acting drug, stimulating him to want to remain in her presence.  
“How long have you been in D.C.?” He queried as the elevator dinged its arrival and opened before them. She stalked into the glass lift, Rumlow following at her heels.  
“Since the twenty-fifth,” her reply was indifferent but it pinged against something that had been pushed to the back of his mind since he’d laid eyes on her — the reason he had come to Secretary Pierce’s office floor in the first place. He was going to inform the Secretary about covert Hydra business; mainly that for several days, since the twenty-fifth in fact, the asset had become irrationally erratic and jumpy with seemingly no explanation, having killed one guard and seriously injured three others within the span of those five days. He didn’t want to lose any more STRIKE agents to the asset’s whims and wiles and was planning on complaining to Pierce in his usual arrogantly obsequious manner.  
“You a new recruit?” SHIELD was always bringing in new people, those of exceptional talent that Nick Fury or another big name in the hierarchy had stumbled upon.  
“Something like that, I suppose.” The elevator doors closed and the two were silent for a moment, alone as the elevator began to descend levels. Rumlow watched the girl turn away from him and glance out over the city through the glass walls of the elevator; she gazed out at Washington D.C. as though she had been there once before, but only in a dream.  
“Ever been to D.C. before?” Rumlow asked, anxious to keep the conversation going as he studied her intently; her cheekbones were high and sharp, giving her a slightly aristocratic appearance, but the eyes were her dominating feature.  
“....Yes,” her reply was slow in coming as a slight frown crossed her face. She turned back to him and stared as though she were looking straight through him towards the doors of the elevator behind him. “In 1987. And again in 1999.”  
Rumlow stared at her, disconcerted for a moment, because 1987 was twenty-seven years ago, and maybe the girl standing before him could pass for twenty-seven if she tried. He was tempted to ask how old she was, but decided against it; females usually did not like being asked their age except when the bartender asked to see their ID. And even then they would act all offended if the bartender doubted they were of legal drinking age, but Rumlow never understood that, wasn’t it a compliment if the bartender asked for your ID? It meant you looked young? She must have seen the perplexion behind his eyes because she let out a dark laugh that sounded more haughty than amused.  
“I’m older than I look,” he wasn’t entirely sure why her smirk sent involuntarily shivers tingling down his spine when the elevator dropped to a halt and the doors opened with a ding to reveal Captain America waiting patiently. The Cap’s eyes flew first to Rumlow, whom he greeted with a nod, having met the STRIKE leader when he first arrived at SHIELD headquarters.  
“Cap,” Rumlow grumbled gutterly, growing slightly intrigued and slightly annoyed when the Captain’s eyes flew towards the girl and he greeted her like they were best buds before instantly jumping into a conversation like he wasn’t even present.  
“Romanoff said you can bunk at her place tonight instead of mine, I know you’re getting tired of me trying to figure out how to work the stove.” Rumlow had no idea what just came out of the Captain’s mouth; he glanced back and forth between the two of them and attempted to figure out what the hell their relationship was. And why was Agent Romanoff involved in this too? It made no sense. Who even was this girl that she could come from Pierce’s floor then walk into Captain America like he was her roommate?  
“I’ll take her up on that, but only because I’m running out of sarcastic things to say when you do try to figure it out,” the girl laughed and stepped out of the elevator to join the Captain, who nodded at Rumlow again before turning and leading the girl down the hall towards the main doors of the Triskelion.  
“Hey, wait a minute,” Rumlow called after the pair, his eyes glued to the girl in the OD green jacket. “I never caught your name.”  
Her lips curled upwards, half a smirk, half a grin, she flashed brilliant white teeth at him before responding. “Bellona Drager.” It wasn’t so much the name that made his mind freeze over into shock — everyone knew the name ‘Drager’ — but the look on her face when she uttered the two words; there was a subtle shift in the planes and angles of her face, making her look both threatening but hesitant, aggressive but compliant. It wasn't until later, when he reached the doors of Pierce’s office that he realized why her expression had shocked him so. Something about the blank look in her blue eyes and the tightening of her jaw had reminded him, once again, of the reason he had been heading to Pierce's office in the first place.   
She had reminded him of the asset.


	30. March 15, 1999

Washington D.C. was one of the hardest places to carry out a covert assassination mission. Mainly because it was Washington D.C. and that was where everyone expected there to be a covert assassination. So they weren’t going to assassinate the target.  
The target had exited the U.S. Capitol building when Congress disbanded for the day, heading towards his waiting car. After sharing a lively joke with his driver about how no one was stabbed on the floor of the Senate that day, he climbed into the sleek car and it sped off, smoothly navigating the crowded street. Amidst the tourists, media, and other politicians departing, the black Ford Explorer with darkened windows went unnoticed as it followed the target car, subtly in pursuit.  
They’d tailed the target’s car for a few blocks through the Capitol Hill neighborhood before approaching a construction zone, where a heavy crane that reached up towards the clear blue sky stood, motionless because of the absence of its crew. Fences blocked off the zone, and cones detoured pedestrians across the street, while signs proclaimed the entire block as a “hard hat area”.  
Before the target’s car passed by the construction zone, the heavy Ford Explorer revved its engine, aggressively swerving around the car it had been tailing and cutting in front of it before the street became reduced to one lane.  
Their calculations had to be infallibly precise.  
As the Ford Explorer began to pass by the construction site, its driver slightly braked, forcing the target car behind to slow up. Meanwhile, the side window of the Ford rolled down, and the girl sitting in the passenger seat casually let her bare hand rest along the edge of the open window.   
There was silence for a few moments, other than the growl of the engine and the chatter of the city around them.  
“Now,” the Soldier spoke from the driver’s seat, and the girl’s hand flicked slightly upwards before she pulled it back in and rolled the window halfway up.  
Then there was a loud, metallic groaning noise, and the Soldier stepped on the gas, shooting the black Ford down the street with unexpected speed.  
The noise that seemed to emanate from the heavens above grew until it ended in a crunching screech of metal on metal and raw human screaming.  
Bellona glanced back. The motionless crane now lay across the street, blocking the already congested city road, the target’s black car lay under it, flattened as though a god had descended from the sky and smashed it with a ruthless vengeance, it was a chaotic disaster of bent steel and broken glass.  
Just before the Soldier pulled the Ford Explorer around the corner and vanished into the city, Bellona snapped her fingers, and the entire block that had been under construction exploded with a thunderous boom.  
The papers would report the tragic death of a U.S. Senator due to faulty mechanisms at a construction zone and a consequential gas explosion on the Ides of March.


	31. April 1, 2014

“Where’ve you been?”  
“How did you get in?”  
“I asked you a question first.”  
“The Smithsonian. And a couple of other places. Your turn.”  
“Reminiscing over the Captain America exhibit? That’s cute, Rogers. And I got in through the front door.”  
“It was locked.…”  
“That’s cute too.”  
“Really, Bella, I don’t remember giving you a key yet, so how did you get in?”  
“Really, Steve, I unlocked the door,” Bellona Drager grinned, looking up from her laptop where she was lounging on Cap’s couch in his apartment. “Do you know what Project Insight is? I know you were with Fury earlier.”  
“Insight?” Steve almost growled the word, closing and double checking he locked the door to the apartment as he entered. “It’s-”  
“Wait!” She jumped to attention, raising a hand suddenly and gesturing him into silence. He furrowed his eyebrows as the girl raised her right hand and tugged off a silver bracelet from her wrist. She then snapped her fingers briefly, and an invisible bubble of air sprung into life between the pair, sealing them off from the outside world; Bellona wasn’t taking any chances of being overheard, particularly when she knew SHIELD was monitoring everything. “Continue.”  
“It’s one of SHIELD’s more insane ideas. Fury showed it to me, despite my alleged not having access to it. They’re building helicarriers…. Fury mentioned something about being ready for the next threat…. Although I don’t necessarily see it as ‘protection’.”  
“Helicarriers?” Bellona frowned, “what for, exactly?”  
“The next alien invasion.… Fury said each gun was capable of taking out thousands of hostiles in minutes, able to read a terrorist’s DNA before he steps into the room….”  
Her frown deepened, “does Fury really think the threat to the world is that severe? It sounds a bit preemptory….”  
“Because it is preemptory. That’s exactly what it is. Anyways, what are you doing here? I thought Fury was giving you an office to do whatever work he wants you to do. And aren’t you staying with Romanoff this week?”  
“Natasha threatened to kick me out if I kept making ‘redheads have no souls’ jokes. So I left. And Fury gave me a bugged office to do work I’m not even capable of doing because I don’t have access to practically any of SHIELD’s more juicier files,” Bellona explained irritably, “so I’m here, trying to hack into their encrypted databases.”  
“How’s that coming?”  
She grimaced, “hacking is Tony’s forte, not mine. Besides, I’m not sure how thrilled SHIELD would be with me if I did manage it.”  
“Right. Well, I’m off to the VA, stay here if you want, but don’t drink all my coffee.”  
“Okay, I’m doing a Starbucks run in a half hour, so your coffee is safe,” the blue-eyed girl said nonchalantly, “tell Sam that Bella says hello.”  
“How do you know Sam?” Steve raised an eyebrow at her curiously, wondering how she knew why he was going to the VA.  
“I spilled my coffee on him yesterday when he accidentally walked into me at the Dunkin Donuts a few blocks away,” she laughed at the memory, “that was right after you were running with him and got called away with Nat to go on that mission I wasn’t allowed to go on.”  
Steve ignored the venom in her tone; everyone knew she was annoyed about being forbidden from going on any SHIELD missions. “How did Sam take you spilling a coffee on him?”  
“Better than I did. He apologized and bought me a new one. Then we spent ten minutes talking and I mentioned I knew you and he started to, what’s the word they use now? Fangirl?”  
Steve chuckled softly, “well I’ll tell him you say hello. Don’t spend too much time trying to hack SHIELD, I don’t think you want Fury more suspicious of you than he already is.”  
She flicked her long braid over her shoulder and promised him she wouldn’t, then lowered the air ward once he had left. A half hour later, which consisted of her attempting to get past the firewalls of SHIELD and rereading her own Wikipedia page, she closed the laptop, dropped it into her leather shoulder bag, and departed Cap’s apartment. It took her thirty minutes to swing by the nearest Starbucks and grab a caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso because the young barista, due to the lack of business at the late hour, struck up an incredibly flirtatious conversation with the striking girl, which she was too amused by to not reciprocate. 

 

The Soldier was in the middle of a mission when he spotted her. The car was driving fast and the streets were a blur, but his eyes picked her out immediately.  
“Stop the car,” he muttered in Russian, “I’ll handle it from here.”  
The nondescript police car cruised to a halt, turning onto an empty side alley off the wider main street. He exited the car in one smooth motion, shouldering his weapon and scanning his surroundings briefly, before charging over towards the fire escape of the nearest house. He scaled it easily, following it up to the roof, where he had a bird’s eye view of the street below.   
There she was. Long dark hair tied back in a braid, sunglasses despite the late hour, a coffee cup in hand, cell phone in the other, and a smooth yet dynamic grace about her walk such that her step exuded an aura of bubbling energy. He wouldn’t have been able to believe it was her had his subconscious not sensed her presence in the city days ago. It had been fourteen years since he had last seen her.  
He had a mission. But he followed her. She had never failed him. 

 

Her phone buzzed as she strolled down the street carrying her prized coffee, the last streaks of the sun bathing the street with a dying glow as night slowly yawned its presence.   
“Tony?” She asked, whipping out her phone to answer the incoming call.  
“Bellaaa,” the billionaire dragged out the last syllable, his voice brightly keen. “How's D.C.?”  
“Can't complain about the architecture,” she chatted casually, “but the politics are stuffy and SHIELD is just as I expected — annoyingly overbearing.”  
“Well, nothing's changed then. What's Fury got you doing?”  
“Researching HYDRA. So nothing, because I can't access most of the encrypted confidential files.”  
“Sounds lame. I could hack them if you wanted.”  
“Nah, Fury would get mad and I'm not trying to be dramatic. Now why did you really call me?”  
“I was wondering if you still hated alcohol.”  
“What? Why?”  
“What if I developed an alcohol with enough intensity to get a super-soldier, or anyone who's been exposed to the serum, completely smashed?”  
Bellona was silent for a moment, her mind churning as her gaze drifted around the street; a car had just skidded past her and down into a side alley, drawing her attention briefly before Tony’s insistence reeled her back in.   
“Who are you trying to get drunk?”  
“No one. I just thought it might be interesting.”  
“So it would be a science experiment.” Her eyes had flicked upwards briefly, a flash of movement catching her eye before Tony continued his explanation.  
“Well…. Yeah….”  
“Do it.”

 

When she arrived back at Cap’s apartment, darkness was spreading, and she was regretting not purchasing a larger coffee, as her grande macchiato was practically gone. She couldn’t believe how goddamn expensive something as ubiquitous as coffee had become in the last few decades.  
The minute she climbed up the staircase, she knew something was wrong. Perhaps it was her heightened senses, or the fact that there was music softly playing from somewhere inside the apartment, music she hadn’t left on. She stripped off her leather gloves, tucked them into her bag, shifting the almost empty coffee cup to her right hand, she pulled off the bracelet on her left wrist and placed this hand on the doorknob, focusing on the internal mechanisms of the lock. It clicked open softly, allowing the girl access to the apartment. She stepped in and identified a life presence immediately. She closed the door behind her, then crept through the darkened kitchen and into the living room, where she spotted Nick Fury, looking battered and bloody, reclining on the chair in the corner, a record spinning benignly beside him.   
Bellona loosened her defensive position and stepped out from around the corner, coming into his full vision. He stared at the short girl calmly for a minute, before rolling his one eye. She looked incredibly amused at finding him there. She arched an eyebrow at him, questioning his current state of health, and he held a finger up to his lips. Bellona understood exactly what he meant — the apartment was bugged.   
She raised her right hand to procure an air ward, but somewhere else in the apartment there was a faint creaking noise, which Fury may not have heard, but Bellona’s sharp ears detected immediately. She dropped the hand and turned, cautiously heading towards the source of the noise.   
She almost ran straight into Steve Rogers, complete with shield and battle face. A snap of the girl’s fingers and the exclamation upon seeing her which he was about to utter was silenced by the crowding of air molecules upon his breath exhalation. Bellona gestured for him to be silent, then pointed into the room behind her, beckoning him to enter. She followed behind him as he quietly approached the living room, coming to a pause just at the corner, relaxing and leaning against the wall as he spotted Fury, now the second person to just show up in his apartment without warning.  
“I don’t remember giving you a key.”  
“You really think I’d need one?” Fury groaned as he pulled himself upwards. “My wife…. kicked me out.”  
“Didn’t know you were married,” Steve said shortly, and Bellona’s face matched his words, because as far as she knew, Nick Fury wasn’t married.  
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”  
“I know Nick,” Steve said, entering the room to flick the light on, “that’s the problem.”  
Fury immediately turned the light back off; Steve had tensed up upon sighting Fury’s injuries. Bellona crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall as Fury pulled out his phone, showing the screen to Rogers. “EARS EVERYWHERE”  
The Captain suddenly became anxious, turning and glancing at Bellona behind him before looking back at Fury.  
“I’m sorry to have to do this, but I had no place else to crash.” Fury sickened the blue-eyed girl, here he was, looking half dead, ironically avoiding his own audio bugs. She took a quiet sip from what remained of her macchiato and watched the two with curious amusement. At least it was good entertainment.  
She almost choked on the drink, however, at the next thing Fury revealed on his phone. “SHIELD COMPROMISED” What the hell did that mean? Wasn’t he the director of SHIELD? How could it be compromised?  
“Who else knows about your wife?”  
Fury stood up with a grunt, clutching a chest injury. “Just.… my friends….” he shot a sideways glance at Bellona Drager, but his phone facing Steve Rogers claimed “YOU AND ME”.  
“Is that what we are?” Steve asked bluntly, “friends?” Bellona raised her cup at this as if toasting the Captain’s words and stared pointly at Fury.  
“That’s up to you.”  
The next thing anyone knew, there was an explosion of gunshots, and Nick Fury collapsed to the floor with a yell, the wall behind him suddenly peppered with bullet holes. Thankfully, Bellona did not drop her coffee as she ducked and flung herself sideways, behind the wall leading into the kitchen. Cap lunged forwards, grabbing Fury as he fell and pulling him back into the short hallway. Once recovering her senses, Bellona jumped back into the living room and stared through the window, where the shots had come from. A flash of silver, and nothing more. Her eyes widened as she gazed out, her muscles tensing up from astonishment; somewhere she heard Fury choking something out to Steve, before there was a banging on the door. At this, Bellona blinked herself out of her reverie, and turned to find Steve’s blonde neighbor enter, wielding a loaded handgun.  
“Captain Rogers, I’m Agent Thirteen, Shield Special Service-”  
“Kate?!”  
“I’ve been assigned to protect you.”  
“On whose order?” Cap demanded in astonishment.  
Agent Thirteen rounded the corner and spotted Fury, there was a sharp intake of breath and she said, “his.”  
“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive, I need EMTs,” she had whipped out a handheld radio.  
“Do we have a twenty on the shooter?” Came a squawky reply.  
Collectively, all turned to gaze out the window. Another glimpse of silver. And then Bellona Drager realized; it was like the gears in her head suddenly froze, creaking and clacking in wild confusion and horrified understanding.  
“Tell him I’m in pursuit,” Steve said breathlessly, snatching up his shield and charging towards the window.  
“No!” Bellona yelled, her coffee actually dropping to the ground this time. Her protest was in vain, however, as Steve had smashed through the window and was now thundering through the adjacent building. “Shit,” the girl muttered under her breath before turning and almost running into the blonde SHIELD agent.  
“Bellona, I know-”  
“Shut up and get out of my way!” The girl snarled, her blue eyes flashing dangerously and Kate scrambled out of her way immediately, intimidated by the violent aggression simmering in both her voice and eyes. Bellona flung her leather shoulder bag off, ripping the fridge’s plug out from the wall before shoving the bag into the fridge. When she slammed the door shut, she ran a hand along the handle, and the air molecules around it interlocked with each other, creating an impenetrable shield. Then she tugged her sunglasses down from her forehead and shoved them into place over her blue eyes, and practically burst out of the window after Captain America. Instead of running through the building after him, however, a simple manipulation of air molecules allowed the girl to climb up to the roof of the adjacent building, solidifying the air’s mass to be used as invisible stairs. She sprinted across the roof, trusting the compass in the back of her mind to lead her. A glint of silver flashed ahead, and she pursued it, full speed, manipulating the air molecules around her to up her velocity.  
She stumbled to a hasty halt upon seeing the scene on the next adjacent building, its roof just beneath her. The silver-armed Soldier had jumped down, rolled, and sped across the rooftop, Captain America, meanwhile, had burst through the window and flung his shield towards the assassin. The few seconds it took for Cap to throw the shield, its target to catch it, and then to throw it back, allowed Bellona Drager to race down to the ground, via slowing down the air molecules, and zoom around to the opposing side of the building on the sidewalk just below, because there was only one escape route for the Winter Soldier.  
He jumped.  
God he was so stupid sometimes.  
Bellona’s air manipulation controlled and softened his jump; he landed quietly on the ground a few paces from her, and the air ward she raised instantly hid both of them. When Steve Rogers glanced down, he would see nothing.  
She stared at the Soldier. He was in full mission gear. Black combat suit, metal arm free, gun dangling from one hand, mask covering his face, his long hair swinging into his blackened eyes; the eyes which she avoided looking directly into as though her life and liberty depended on it, because both, in fact, did.  
He stared back at her.   
It felt like an eternity.   
Finally the Soldier fractured the silence. “Bells?” His voice was muffled from his mask but to Bellona it was as though he had murmured the word directly into her ear; her conscious didn’t even register that he had spoken to her in Russian.  
“Winter,” she greeted him in a low tone, unknowingly switching over to the same language he had spoken to her in. It had been over twelve years since she’d last seen him. “What are you doing here?”  
“Completing an assignment,” he said gruffly, then glanced up and down the street strategically. “We have to get back to headquarters.”  
“Where’s headquarters?” Bellona asked nervously, afraid of the answer.  
“Close,” he responded, then stretched out his free hand and snatched up hers. “Come on.”  
“No,” She pulled her hand from his metal grasp and took a step back, keeping her eyes on a blank spot just above his left shoulder. “I… I can’t, right now… There’s something… something I have to do first... a mission….”  
Confusion flashed behind the Soldier’s eyes but when sirens pierced the night, they hardened. He tried to lock her eyes with his but the aviator sunglasses she wore only reflected his own gaze back at him. “Let’s go.”  
She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, an action that went unnoticed by him because of the sunglasses. “This wasn’t my mission. I… I can’t go back with you… yet.…”  
He stared at the girl who had been his accomplice years ago in silence for a minute, because she had never disobeyed an order from him before. He eventually responded, accepting her decision. “I’ll see you back at headquarters.”  
Her shoulders slumping in relief, she lifted the air ward and didn’t open her eyes until she knew he had vanished into the night.


	32. April 1, 2014

Bellona Drager sat quietly in the chair in the hospital hallway, watching nurses and doctors rush back and forth with their life-saving agendas. Her face was stoic; she was awaiting Steve and Natasha, as they paid their last respects to Nick Fury. While Nick was certainly no friend of Bellona’s, he had respected her, in his own condescending sort of way. It was him who had allowed her to come to SHIELD, giving her a chance to redeem herself from her past work with HYDRA, despite it not being the most opportune chance, and it had probably been more of a subtle way for SHIELD to keep an eye on her. And he hadn’t been very nice about it all, and hadn’t even questioned the order to brand the girl, which she still held against him. But Steve and Nat had respected him, maybe even loved him, in their own weird ways. So Bellona waited for them patiently, because she didn’t know what else to do. Her expression may have held ruthless stoicism, but her mind was a whirlwind of one crisis after another.   
The Soldier was here.   
Bellona Drager was hardwired, trained, expected, meant to join him. He was here. But that meant HYDRA was here too. And he had killed Fury. On HYDRA’s orders.   
But Steve and Nat were here. Along with Tony and the other Avengers, they’d become like older siblings to her, she trusted them and they her.   
“I’ll see you back at headquarters.” He was expecting her. Ordered her, in fact, to return to HQ. She didn’t know where that was but she didn’t doubt she could find out. She could always find him. The little buzz in the back of her mind that was in sync with the Soldier.  
But Steve and Nat were here.  
But the Soldier…. The Soldier was HYDRA. And HYDRA had killed Fury.  
Steve and Nat were what was left of SHIELD. And SHIELD was Fury.  
Slumping back into the chair she closed her eyes and sighed; her forearms were tingling with physical reminders of what both organizations represented, what both had done to her.  
Her eyes flying open, Bellona jumped up out of the rickety hospital chair as Natasha Romanoff suddenly stormed from the room, Steve Rogers close behind her, calling after her. Finally, the redhead whipped around, giving Cap a stony stare. “Why was Fury in your apartment last night?”  
“I don’t know,” Steve sighed, and Bellona watched the pair curiously, wondering what had occurred between them.  
“Cap,” Brock Rumlow interrupted from behind the group, “they want you back at SHIELD. Bellona, you too.”  
“Yeah give me a second,” Steve said dismissively as the blue-eyed girl gave Rumlow a questioning glance, which he returned with a raising of an eyebrow and a suggestive grin.  
“They want you now,” he insisted, and Steve turned to shoot him a hard look while Bellona was giving the STRIKE leader a nasty glare, which he seemed to enjoy receiving from her.  
“Okay.”  
“You’re a terrible liar,” Nat’s lips twitched upwards and she shook her head slightly before turning and walking off. Steve watched her leave before looking back at the bewildered girl. Bellona could only shrug; she had no idea what was going on.  
“STRIKE team escort Captain Rogers and Bellona Drager back to SHIELD immediately,” they heard one of the SHIELD agents say.  
“I told them,” Rumlow dismissed this order, sending Bellona a wink before he headed towards the team.  
“Bella,” Cap murmured to the perplexed girl and covertly flicked a hard drive towards her. She caught it easily and gave him a baffled look. He looked her in the eye for a moment, then tilted his head towards the vending machine next to the two, which was being restacked by a hospital maintenance worker. Bellona’s eyes widened, she understood immediately and shot a grin at the Captain. A subtle slipping off of her bracelet, then with a wiggling of her fingers, the maintenance worker’s eyes grew confused as the air in front of him would begin to grow hazy and blurry. He was blinking furiously as Bellona subtly leaned past him and stuck the hard drive into an empty place in the machine, then snatched up a couple of packs of bubble gum and pressed them into the slots in front of it.  
“Set,” she muttered to Cap and he gave her a slight nod. A snap of the girl’s fingers and the maintenance worker’s vision cleared as the air molecules in front of him returned to normal. Bellona stuck her bracelet back on and Cap ushered her after Rumlow and the STRIKE team, but she sneaked a glance back to spy the maintenance worker shrugging to himself and continuing to restock the machine.


	33. April 2, 2014

Cap wanted to arrive back at SHIELD in full uniform. Bellona understood why; someone he trusted had just been brutally murdered, that was basically an act of war in his eyes. So they arrived at the Triskelion with Cap in full gear, his latest uniform designed for covert night missions, and Bellona in her newest outfit, joint-designed by herself and Tony Stark, with inspiration from Black Widow; it resembled one of her own black combat suits, but was upgraded and enhanced with the latest technological aspects by Tony. There were trackers, electronic gadgets that Nat was fond of, jammers, tasers, and a few knives all hidden on and within the suit.  
It was Bellona’s second time being in Alexander Pierce’s office in several days. It was an incredible relief she had managed to convince the Captain that they absolutely had to stop for coffee before arriving, so she strolled alongside Steve Rogers towards Pierce’s office with a large iced coffee gripped in her gloved hand. Bellona rolled her eyes when Kate, Steve’s wannabe-nurse neighbor passed by the pair; Cap was internally fuming at her for being a SHIELD agent assigned to protect him by Fury while he had no idea. Bellona also had the feeling Agent Thirteen had also been stationed to keep an eye on her for Fury as well.  
“Ah, Captain,” Pierce greeted warmly, “I’m Alexander Pierce.”  
“Sir,” Steve replied, shaking the secretary’s hand firmly. “It’s an honor.”  
“The honor is mine, Captain,” Pierce said, “my father served in the hundred and first.” He then turned to the notably short girl at his side, “and Bellona, pleasure seeing you again so soon.”  
“Mr. Secretary,” she nodded her head politely at him and took a sip from her coffee, hiding her sneer as Pierce beckoned them into the office.   
Bellona invited herself to take a seat as Pierce gave Steve a rundown of his relationship with Nick Fury, a topic which she could not care less about.  
“....so you gave him a promotion,” Pierce’s incredibly boring and almost rehearsed story had ended and Steve hit him with a question.  
“I’ve never had any cause to regret,” Pierce said briskly, “Captain, why were both Nick and Bellona in your apartment last night?”  
“I’m always in his apartment,” Bellona Drager responded coolly, “I swap between staying with him and Agent Romanoff when I’m in D.C., seeing as I’m not allowed to stay on my own.” Why hadn’t Fury told him that? They were apparently best buds.  
Steve nodded his affirmation to this then added, “I don’t know why Fury was there.”  
Pierce accepted the girl’s explanation with a quick look then glanced back at Cap. “Did you know it was bugged?”  
“I did,” Cap replied, “because Nick told me.” Bellona was silent on this issue. She knew everything was bugged.   
“Did he tell you he was the one who bugged it?”  
Steve was silent, though his answer was on his face. The girl with the long braid remained quiet, taking another sip of her coffee, because she was well aware of this fact as well.  
“I want you to see something,” Pierce said, picking up a small remote which flicked on a screen. Footage of the pirate who had taken over the ship that had been hijacked appeared.  
“Is that live?” Steve asked, turning to watch it curiously. Bellona narrowed her eyes; Steve and Nat had been assigned to rescue the hostages and take out the pirates on the Lemurian Star. She had whined to Fury that she had wanted to tag along too, despite everyone’s agreement that she would not be allowed to accompany any of the Avengers on missions; Fury he had shot down all her arguments by saying her “skill set wasn’t required” for this mission. However, everyone knew that was a “load of bullshit” in Bellona’s own words. There wasn’t a mission her multiple skill sets couldn’t be used for.  
“-Batroc was hired anonymously to attack the Lemurian Star and he was contacted by e-mail and paid by wire transfer. And then the money was run through seventeen fictitious accounts, the last one going to a holding company that was registered to a Jacob Veech.”  
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Steve asked as Pierce handed him a file. Bellona frowned, the name was not familiar to her either.  
“Not likely,” Pierce informed him, “Veech died six years ago. His last address was 1435 Elmhurst Drive. When I first met Nick, his mother lived at 1437.”  
“Are you saying Fury hired the pirates? Why?” Bellona had almost choked on her coffee at this.  
“Well the prevailing theory was that the hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence…. The sale went sour and that led to Nick’s death.” None of Pierce’s explanation was making sense to the blue-eyed girl.  
“If you really knew Nick Fury you know that’s not true.” Bellona identified the problem with Cap’s argument immediately. No one really knew Nick Fury.  
“Why do you think we're talking?” Pierce stood, calmly pacing towards the windows that overlooked the city. Cap stood in response, watching the secretary. Bellona remained seated, observing silently. “See, I took a seat on the Council not because I wanted to but because Nick asked me to, because we were both realists. We knew that despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, that to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies. Those people that call you dirty because you got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today, makes me really, really angry.... Captain, you were the last one to see Nick alive — I don't think that's an accident, and I don't think you do either. So I'm gonna ask again, why was he there?”  
“He told me not to trust anyone,” Steve stated bluntly.  
“I wonder if that included him,” Pierce said coolly and Steve hesitated as the words washed over him.  
“I’m sorry,” he announced, “those were his last words.” He turned and looked back at Bellona, sitting quietly where she had been the whole time. “Excuse us.”  
Pierce glanced at the blue-eyed girl as she rose, “Bellona if you’d give me the honor of staying, we’ve discovered some new information that is likely to be relevant to what Nick assigned you. Even with his death we can still honor his directions.”  
“Alright,” Bellona said warily, dropping back into the chair as Steve picked up his shield and made to depart. He gave her a cautious look but she nodded, dismissing his worries. She could easily deal with Pierce. “I’ll meet up with you later.” They both knew Steve was returning to the hospital to retrieve the hard drive.  
“Captain,” Pierce stopped Steve before he left with a word, “somebody murdered my friend and I’m gonna find out why. Anyone gets in my way, they’re gonna regret it. Anyone.” There was a threatening emphasis on the last word. Steve gave Pierce a long look before replying.  
“Understood.”  
Alexander Pierce waited until the door had closed behind Cap before claiming the floor.  
“Bellona Drager….” he began in a low voice, “HYDRA’s most secret weapon.”  
The girl shifted uncomfortably, “are we here to discuss my past or do you actually have something relevant to tell me?”  
“A bit of both, actually,” he walked forward and took the seat opposite her like they were having a casual chat over drinks. “It’s good to see you acclimating back into the modern world so well.”  
“You say that like I ought to be-”  
“Thanking me? Well, to put it humbly, you ought to.”  
“Why?” She demanded, about to take a sip from her coffee but lowering it suspiciously.  
The smile that curled Pierce’s lips was chilling. “Well did you honestly expect to be so willingly allowed back into society at any length with HYDRA and Soviet symbols branded onto your skin so blatantly? The only solution was to match it.”  
Bellona almost dropped her coffee as his words suddenly overwhelmed her. “Wh-what?” She stuttered, astonished by what Pierce was saying, “You — it was you, you had me branded!” Her right forearm, where the SHIELD and U.S. symbols lay hidden under her sleeve suddenly felt leaden with the weight of his words.  
“Did you think the Avengers just happened to come across the exact facility in Siberia where you were kept?” Pierce continued as though Bellona wasn’t having an existential crisis right there in his office, “did you think Nick Fury was just going to let you live out your days in New York, under the Avengers care, when the logical thing to do would be to put you back in cryo or lock you up? Did you think Fury was the one who actually wanted you to come to D.C.? See, I managed to convince Nick that you posed no threat, that it wasn’t worth angering Stark about, and that it would be better keeping the whole situation sub rosa. Of course it also helped that the world still doesn’t know you’re alive. But we’ve always known.”  
Bellona froze, her heart suddenly pounding quicker than her thoughts. “Who’s ‘we’?”  
Pierce chuckled as though he was about to reveal the punch line of a clever joke, “I think you know that already.”  
There was a silence that roared throughout the room. Bellona’s mind was racing, attempting to piece together everything Pierce had just said, and she realized that she did know. That she had known since she’d seen the first flash of silver yesterday when Fury had been assassinated. “HYDRA.... You…. You’re.… You’ve been running HYDRA from within SHIELD….”  
“Very good, Bellona,” Pierce had adopted the tone one used when congratulating a puppy for sitting when asked. “I knew you’d catch on, one way or another.”  
“You killed Fury,” she snapped accusingly, trembling slightly because of the gravity of what all this meant. Everything was a setup, everything was planned, everything was controlled by HYDRA. “Was that all an act earlier, or were you actually friends?”  
“Oh, Nick and I were friends,” Pierce assured her, “but loyalty only runs so deep. But that rule doesn’t apply to you, does it, Bellona?”  
She stiffened, not liking the emphasis he placed on her name, all the ice in her coffee had melted from her tight clutch on it. “What do you mean-”  
Pierce held a hand up to stop the girl, reaching forward and picking up the remote that he had earlier placed on the small side table. He tapped something on it and the screen that had before showed a live feed of the interrogation of Batroc now showed different footage, a black and white recording from decades ago.  
Bellona identified herself immediately. She was in full mission gear, complete with mask hiding her face, her eyes were left uncovered however, and her long braid was swinging dangerously behind her. She found herself sucking in a breath as she spotted who she was darting after. The Soldier. He was in matching mission outfit, and gesturing her to follow him. Bellona watched as the figures on the screen paused in an alley across the street from a multi-story building and appeared to discuss something briefly. The assignment suddenly came shrieking back to her memory in a tidal wave of horror. Christmas, 1991. Her first real mission.   
“What is this?” She demanded, turning back to Pierce and glaring at him. He seemed almost surprised by the girl’s reaction.  
“You don’t remember this assignment?”  
“Oh, I remember very well….” Both knew what the assignment had been. Recovery of confidential intelligence before the Soviet Union was officially disbanded. “But why are you showing me this?” She growled, her eyes flicking back to the screen where herself and the Soldier had just darted across the street towards the target building.  
“Take it as a… reminder… of where your loyalty lies,” he said lightly, his lips twitched upwards in a taunting smile, but his eyes moved to a spot behind the girl. “Now.”  
Bellona flew to her feet, adopting a defensive position as she whipped around, ready to face whoever or whatever was approaching from behind. Half a dozen members of the STRIKE team had burst into the room — but they were only a decoy. It was too late to react as Pierce had jumped up, stepped forward quickly and plunged a needle into the girl’s exposed neck. Bellona gasped as the sedative filtered into her bloodstream, her eyelids drooped as her brain grew fuzzy and then control was wrenched away from her consciousness as her body dropped to the floor.


	34. December 25, 1991

Bellona is the name of the ancient Roman goddess of war. But James and Maria Drager didn't name their only daughter Bellona because they wanted her to grow up to destroy cities and murder men. They had wanted to call her Belle, but thought it sounded too simple. And Isabella was too common. So, after some research, they named her after the goddess who was the partner of Mars and referred to her as Bella. They thought it quite the nerdy joke. “Bella” being the Latin word for war, and the Italian word for a beautiful girl. James Drager used to say beautiful girls started wars and raised empires, for look at Helen, she had Troy destroyed, but she immortalized it through Homer’s writings, caused Aeneas to flee to a small spot on the Italian peninsula, where he would found what would become Rome. Beautiful girls start wars and raise empires. Her parents hoped she would do the latter. Unfortunately, their daughter ended up taking after her namesake, and doing the former, because you can't raise an empire without starting a war.   
Now, however, an empire was about to fall. It was slightly past midnight in the capital of the soon to be former Soviet Union, the moon hidden by heavy layers of uniform overcast clouds, blackening the streets in such a way that not even the feeble, flickering electric streetlights could usher out the darkness that crept through the streets and around the buildings of the city. Gloom wasn’t the only thing that moved stealthily through the decaying urban landscape. Mars stood quietly in a shadowy alley, assessing the twelve story office building across the street, the war goddess at his side, she was calmly leaning against the brick of the abandoned apartment building that made up one wall of the alley, awaiting his decision as they attempted to carry out the last orders of the empire before the hammer and sickle flag was pulled down forever.  
He muttered the orders in a growl of Russian, the language they always spoke to each other in while on missions. “No alarms. Top floor is the target, about two hundred guards, all armed….”  
“There are two hundred and twelve,” she announced in the same cyrillic tongue, snapping her eyes open and taking a step forward to stare at the target building. She sized the building up in one knowledgeable look. “There’s no way we can make it all the way up without some sort of alarm being raised….” She looked back at the Soldier, a question forming in her eyes.  
“No alarms,” he confirmed instantly.  
Under her mask, she frowned. “Then how….” She muttered, staring at the building they had to enter, retrieve the intelligence, and exit in under two hours. “Just busting right in…. would be stupid, right?”  
His response was to simply shrug, throwing the girl at his side into even deeper confusion. She turned away from the building and stepped back to lean against the wall again, crossing her black leather clad arms over her chest and staring at the Soldier with flickering blue eyes. Usually he was the one with the ideas, telling her who to take out or where to be, but now he was silent, almost as though he was waiting for her to come up with some brilliant plan as to how to breach the targeted building. After a few moments of silence, he seemed to realize that she was awaiting his command, so he snapped a fresh cartridge into his AK-47 and used it to point at the building.   
“Let’s go,” he announced calmly, stepping out of the shadows and into the street. She quickly pushed herself off from the wall and hurried to keep up.   
“Wait, what?” She asked in a panicky voice, “we can’t bust right in — that was a joke, it’s terrible strategy, we have to-”  
“Shut up,” he ordered her, his voice cool, and she quieted immediately, albeit still questioning this plan.   
“Vehicle incoming,” he informed her in a low voice once they had crossed the street, “carrying more guards to switch shifts with the others.”  
“So…. what do we do about it?” She asked, “shoot out their tires? That’s going to be noisy and dramatic-”  
“Take care of it quietly.”  
“How?” She was incredibly perplexed, and growing slightly annoyed; it was like he was waiting for her to stumble upon some ingenious answer, but she was clueless. Why couldn’t he just tell her what to do? Everything was easier, smoother, and more efficient that way.  
“Men need oxygen to breathe,” he stated randomly as they ducked into the shadows of the building. She stared up at him incredulously, wondering if this was some sort of joke, but he was busy gazing down into the depths of the alley — a dash of a thought flashed through his eyes — as though ensuring there was nothing there.  
“What has that got to do with anything?” She pulled his attention away from the end of the alley and back to her.  
“Guards lose oxygen — can’t call for backup or raise alarms,” he explained in a slow, concise voice, as if making sure she wouldn’t miss his meaning by simplifying it.  
“Okay,” she said, nodding along to this fantastical suggestion, “so we remove the oxygen from the vehicle…. How? I can’t do that.”  
Quick as a flash, he shifted his AK-47 over to his right hand, grabbed her elbow with his left metal arm, pulled her towards him and around, so he pinned her against the rough brick of the building behind them. He retained his iron grip on her elbow, sliding his hand down along her black combat leather clad forearm until he held just her wrist in his hand. He then shook it firmly, waving her own hand in front of her face in an attempt to make her realize the obvious. “Yes, you can.”   
Then she realized. Her forearms were free, completely free, no metal chain links were on her arms as had been in all prior training and assignments.  
“Oh….” she gasped, her mask muffling her words but her sudden comprehension was apparent. He released her wrist, pleased with her understanding of the situation.  
“Vehicle approaching, northwest,” he looked directly into her eyes and spoke the command in a single word. “Now.”  
She took a single step away from the wall, staring directly at the battered military van that had slowed to a cruise to pull up outside the building. Before she sucked in a breath, she stripped off one of her heavy combat gloves and stuffed it in a pocket on her jacket. Then she held this palm, her right, before her, and clenched her fingers into a tight fist. She exhaled slowly, holding and dragging out her breath for as long as she could, loosening her fist and splaying her fingers in sync with the release of air.  
It happened after a moment of silence, both black figures watching the van eagerly. The vehicle suddenly veered towards the sidewalk, directly approaching the shadowy alley where the pair stood. The shorter figure stepped back and hissed under her breath, a sound like the insidious escaping of air, and suddenly the van’s tires rapidly deflated, transforming into useless mounds of rubber in mere heartbeats and the entire vehicle was forced to a halt, half of its sunken tires on the sidewalk. Then there was an eerie quiet. No movement, no noise from the van.  
Bellona stepped forward, towards the vehicle, raised her right palm as if swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and snapped her fingers. A single glass window on the van cracked into a dozen pieces with nothing more than a faint creak. A finger beckoned the glass towards her, and it floated out of its frame, revealing a glimpse of the inside of the van. Men clad in green military uniforms were passed out all about the van, their faces purple, their weapons clattered about the floor as their grips had slackened.   
An iron hand gripped her shoulder. “Let’s go.”  
A banishing gesture and another snap of her fingers and the broken glass replaced itself in its frame, reforming to appear as if it had never been broken. She exhaled once more, and the van again became a tiny, isolated island devoid of oxygen. She turned and followed the Soldier to the front doors of the building. He paused just next to the door, leaning against the marble edifice, gun loaded and ready. She glided past him and sank down into a crouch at his feet, then peeked around and through the glass doors of the building. A quick glance was all she required.   
“Security cameras, three in the lobby, one before the elevator — there’s always one there. Four guards, one at the desk, two down the hall, another just inside the door, patrolling, looking bored with his job and his life.” She whipped off her other glove and turned to glance over her shoulder at the Soldier above her. “Should I take out the guards or cameras?”  
“Cameras first.”  
“Understood,” she muttered, and returned to peering around into the glass doors of the building. The three cameras in the lobby were easy to spot, one was pointed at the entrance doors she was looking through, another at the main desk, where a guard sat lazily, the third was at the wide hallway leading to the elevators at the end, where a fourth would be facing the elevator doorway, to monitor who came on and off. She brushed her right thumb against the tips of her four other fingers on the same hand, and her lips curled into a triumphant smile as a single spark erupted from each camera — unknown to the guards, but evident to her. A single spark and each camera’s internal mechanisms failed. She gave the all clear sign to the Soldier behind her, and he jumped ahead, kicked open the doors, and three guards had bullets through their heads by the time Bellona whirled in after him. She clapped her hands and the remaining guard collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain as his lungs suddenly deflated, the air being sucked from each alveolus, his diaphragm expanding as his lungs thirsted for precious oxygen but received none.  
“Lung collapse,” Bellona sighed, stepping over one of the guard’s bodies. “Horrendous, but instantaneous reduction of oxygen leads to rapid decapitation. So, it was a good idea.”  
“That was one guard,” the Soldier reminded her as he shouldered his weapon, he had been about to cut down the last guard before Bellona had appeared. “There are two hundred and eight more.”  
“Who said we have to deal with all of them?” She asked lightly, as though they had just swaggered into a cocktail party and had to go through the motions of socializing with acquaintances they would rather not interact with. “Are we taking the stairs or elevator?”  
The Soldier was silent, simply stalking forwards and beckoning her to follow as he headed towards the staircase.  
“Of course we gotta take the stairs,” she grumbled under her breath, but followed him unquestioningly.  
About halfway up the building, the Soldier paused on a landing just before the doorway that led out to one of the floors, holding up a hand and the girl behind him froze, quivering slightly as she listened intently. He held up four fingers and then shot a glance back at her, his eyes meeting hers instantly. She nodded and slipped under his metal arm, approached the door and peeked through the stained window that revealed the floor beyond. The four guards were conversing in rather loud voices amongst themselves, and didn’t notice when the door creaked open a mere inch.  
Bellona held her right hand in her left and quickly cracked her four knuckles. The Soldier heard four dull thumps and watched her long braid flick as she turned back and signed the all clear to him.   
They continued their silent charge up the stairs until they reached the top floor, where they paused just outside the door. The Soldier cracked the door open and then turned back to Bellona, who stood silently, breathing deeply with her eyes closed, she rose up onto her toes and then sank back down to her heels. “Thirty guards,” she murmured, snapping her eyes open and meeting his. The Soldier nodded, then reached down and pushed the door open. It squeaked softly as it swung open, permitting the two entrance onto the top floor. It opened into a large dreary common room, with dull electric lights flickering around the walls, several hallways branched off it, leading to multiple office and storage rooms. There were several guards floating around the room, two just inside the door which the pair had opened, another two at a desk facing several monitors in the middle of the room, fiddling with the computers before them as though attempting to discern why the live feeds of the ground floor had turned to static, and four more scattered throughout, patrolling about the entrances to the hallways.  
The two at the desk dropped immediately, taken by bullets shot by the Soldier, who then tossed aside his emptied weapon and charged at the two just near the door, engaging them instantly and taking them by surprise. Bellona went after the four others, an intricate whirling of her hands and each choked on the yells rising from their lips, their weapons clattering to the ground as their hands clutched at their throats in panic. Two more gunshots rang out, having incapacitated the two he’d charged at, the Soldier had pulled out a small handgun and sniped the two guards on the right side of the room whom were frozen in place by Bellona’s manipulating of the air around them. The two on the left then collapsed with a clapping of the girl’s hands, landing on the floor with purple faces and veined necks.  
“Twenty-two more,” the Soldier muttered, snapping a new round of ammo into his handgun and glancing around the room, studying all entrances to the various hallways.   
“Hard drive will be in one of the offices, most likely,” Bellona murmured.  
“Sweep the floor,” he said shortly, “take the right side. I’ll take the left. Back here in ten minutes.”  
She took the time limitation as a challenge. “Seven min — oh shit!”  
The twenty-two guards who were supposed to be elsewhere on the floor suddenly came filtering out into the common room from each of the hallways, all yelling to each other in frantic voices, evidently drawn by the gunshots they must have heard.  
One pair of blue eyes met another as the Soldier turned to look directly at his accomplice, finding her awaiting his command with a cool ease. Then his eyes drifted over to her braid, and her eyes sparked with understanding.  
She reached a hand up and tugged out her braid, then dragged her fingers through the lower half of her hair, gathering the growing whiteness within the palm of her hand, and flinging out her arm. Jets of subzero white air and ice came shooting of her hand, rocketing off to all sides of the room, freezing the air, freezing bullets fired from the guards, freezing the guards themselves, freezing their very breath, which appeared as puffs of smoke before cracking into shards of ice and clattering to the now frost-covered floor. The sole thing not affected by the sudden Arctic takeover of the whole floor was the sprinting Soldier, a dark blur atop the frozen landscape, guarded against the conquering cold due to a simple snap of his accomplice’s fingers, and the air molecules about him formed a protective ward, zipping back and forth with enough energy to shield him from the ice.  
The Soldier flew around the entire floor in seven minutes, finding and retrieving the targeted intelligence and returning to the common room, where Bellona was maintaining the area like a snowglobe.  
“Let’s go,” the Soldier announced, and Bellona flicked her hands in front of her, with a supersonic roar the cold and ice and snow was sucked back towards the girl in a controlled white hurricane. It gathered about her hands in seconds and she was rebraiding the storm into her hair as she followed the Soldier out of the room and down the stairs.  
“Wait, wait, wait, slow down,” she grumbled, struggling to both braid her hair and thunder down the stairs at the same speed of the Soldier. He paused on a landing between floors and waited for her; by the time she arrived beside him, she tied her braid off and flicked it over her shoulder.   
“We gotta bring the building down, don’t we.”  
His nod was swift and firm.  
“Okay,” she sighed, knowing the trail of men having been killed by obscure causes such as lung collapse would raise suspicion; and she placed a hand lightly on the handrailing that descended down the building along with the stairs. As she followed him down the stairs to the ground, her hand ran along the railing, sparks flying from her fingers and treacherously melting into the metal of the railing. Any guard that they came across was cut down with a sharp bullet from the Soldier’s gun, allowing the pair to continue unmolested.  
They reached the ground floor just as the staircase collapsed in on itself, groaning and roaring downwards from the weakened infrastructure caused by Bellona’s fingertips brushing along the railing and imbuing destructive energy within the stairs.  
Neither of them had to scream at the other to run, they moved in sync, hurtling into the lobby and over the motionless bodies of the guards, the glass entrance doors were blown to pieces before them as they leapt out and into the street outside. They didn’t slow their pace as the shrieking fireball roared down through the building and shattered every glass window from its exploding pressure, melting steel and splitting wood and disintegrating brick.  
The black-clad pair jumped onto the awaiting motorcycle parked several blocks away and zoomed off out of the city as the firestorm overtook the building, painting the early Christmas morning sky crimson and gold in a heinous mockery of holiday lights.


	35. April 2, 2014

“The time table is moved. Our window is limited. Two targets, level six. They already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in ten hours.”  
Ten hours. That wasn’t a lot of time. The thought was running through the Soldier’s head while Pierce’s housekeeper showed up, forcing Pierce to snatch the gun the Soldier had lying on the table and shoot the woman. His eyes drifted vacantly over to the bullet-ridden corpse on the floor before blinking back to Pierce, who’d returned the gun to its spot on the table and turned to look at him; the Soldier wasn’t sure what to make of what he noticed flashing behind Pierce’s eyes.  
Ten hours.  
Pierce checked his watch with a brief motion, a slight grin curling his lips. “Return to headquarters. I’m sure you’ll appreciate what we returned to your arsenal.”

 

Brock Rumlow didn’t understand what the hell was happening. He’d been ordered back to the Ideal Federal Savings Bank after calling in for the asset to come clean up the mess Captain America and Black Widow had become — he swore the goddamn Avengers had it out for his mental health, why did they have to be so hard to knock off? When he arrived, he was expecting to get rebuked for letting Cap’s ninety-five year old ass escape again, so he didn’t understand why Bellona Drager, of all people, was unconscious in the chair usually reserved for the asset, her brain being fried before everyone’s eyes. Things got even weirder when Secretary Pierce showed up looking like his prodigal son had returned home. The asset itself had entered the room behind Pierce, a handful of armed guards as escorts, he had halted upon spotting the girl in the chair, blank blue eyes attaching themselves to her like velcro.  
Pierce was so giddy, Rumlow half expected someone to come bursting into the room with the freshly slaughtered prize lamb, or the corpse of Captain America. The Secretary had entered a conversation with one of the doctors monitoring the machine around Bellona’s head; the girl had fallen unconscious a while ago, and thankfully the screaming had stopped. Rumlow still had no idea what was going on, and he wasn’t about to ask Pierce for an explanation. But he assumed this meant ever asking Bellona Drager out for drinks was now entirely out of the equation.  
After what seemed like ages, the machines were powered down and a group of doctors in white coats ringed the girl in the chair, one of them injected a threatening looking needle into the exposed skin of her neck. Rumlow thought he was going to shit himself when the asset moved. A flash of silver was all he saw, then the asset was standing a few paces before the girl, staring down at her expectantly. Her eyes flew open from whatever drug the doctors had injected her with, and their bloodshot, blank blue snapped upwards; the asset’s eyes bored into hers with an intensity that seemed almost violent. Then she muttered something in a language Rumlow recognized but didn’t understand. Russian. And the asset responded in the same language.  
Rumlow must have dropped his guard at some point and allowed his internal bewilderment to show on his face because Alexander Pierce, with a triumphant smirk dominating his features, approached him, gestured back towards the asset and the girl and chuckled, clapping a hand on the STRIKE team leader’s shoulder fondly. “There’s a lot of brilliant things the Soviets gave to us. Creating a genius way of programming the brain into obedience is one of them.”


	36. April 3, 2014

If there was ever a time Bellona Drager wanted to be brainwashed, it would be now. She wanted to forget everything that had just happened. The waking up in HYDRA’s headquarters to find the Winter Soldier staring down at her as though he’d been expecting her, which, he had been. She didn’t even know how she had gotten there in the first place. Then there was the dizziness, the confusion, the headaches, the blankness, the car chase, the fight between her and the redhead, which ended when both got distracted by the fight between the Soldier and the man with the shield, then the explosion, the cracking as something in her shoulder snapped and the warm, wet feeling of blood oozed down her skin. The Soldier grabbing her and jumping into a waiting car with HYDRA agents, the drive back as her breathing catapulted up and down as thick blood seeped out of her shoulder wound that the Soldier was attempting to bind. Getting practically dragged back into HYDRA’s headquarters as she had an existential crisis. Witnessing the Soldier having an existential crisis. Everything was a blur, everything was a haze, everything was an existential crisis. It was like sleepwalking, she was watching events through a thick veil of her inability to do anything about the situation occurring around her.  
Because of the whirlwind of hesitation and bewilderment that had struck her the moment the redhead on the bridge had called out her name in complete astonishment, she was now nursing a severe wound from a rocket launcher explosion that the same redhead had aimed at the Soldier. It had impacted a vehicle, and the debris from it had exploded over her as she was racing towards the faceoff between the man with the colorful shield and the Soldier. Airborne metal had torn straight through her uniform and shredded her skin, from her shoulder down to her right elbow. It had been this injury that caused her to realize what was happening, to snap through the foggy layers that floated over her consciousness. The redhead was Natasha. The man with the shield was Steve. And the other, whom had sent the Soldier flying before he could take another shot at the Captain, was Sam.  
Blood was slowly dripping down her arm, covering the girl with sticky scarlet, filling her nose with its rusty iron scent. But she ignored the jaw-clenching throbs at the moment. Her breathing was coming in short, hard gasps and her vision was alternating between black and red as surges of pain and anger ripped their way through her. She didn’t know what to do, the emotions were overwhelming.  
Her world was rapidly and ruthlessly crumbling down around her. A familiar, gaping fissure had appeared that threatened to swallow her whole. On one hand, her allegiance was with the Soldier. That was the way it was, that was the way it had always been. That was what felt right, but she didn't know if it was simply the circuits in her brain telling her that because that was what HYDRA had programmed her to believe. On the other hand, she felt her loyalty also lay somewhere else, and it had taken the injury she was now suffering from to clear away the haze and force her to realize with whom it also did lie: the Avengers. They had saved her; she was a part of their family. But the Soldier was a part of her.  
It was a damning decision she didn’t want to make, a civil war within her mind: with whom did she side? And was that choice even hers to make?  
As her mind raged like a howling pack of rogue wolves, she was vaguely aware of her surroundings; she was sitting in a chair in the golden room of HYDRA’s headquarters, where she had first woken up, across from the Soldier, surrounded by guards, men in white coats treating her bloodied upper arm.   
Her existential crisis was temporarily pushed to the back of her mind when the Soldier wrenched his own arm free from the man working to repair it and flung him across the room with one violent swipe. The guards reaction was instantaneous, coming to attention and surrounding him, their guns trained on him. Those around Bellona tensed as she shrugged the doctors in white coats away from her, jumped off the chair and down to her feet in automatic reaction to the Soldier’s movement. Immediately, a pair of guards stepped forward and clamped iron hands onto her shoulders, she winced but made no noise as they wrenched her injured shoulder when they forced her down to her knees. The two stood beside her, holding her down with a hand on each shoulder, a gun threatening her head. The rest were close behind, ready to act if needed; but she was staring at the Soldier.  
“Sir, they’re both unstable,” a voice came from beyond the gate of the golden room, “erratic, even.…”  
Evidently, this did not concern Secretary Alexander Pierce. The gate was pulled open for him and he entered with a cool swagger, raised a hand, and the guards backed away from their ready stances, though the two holding Bellona down remained.  
“Mission report,” Pierce demanded calmly — and he received none, the Soldier was busy staring across the room; he was gazing directly where Bellona was, on her knees on the hard floor, surrounded by guards, but his face was empty; his eyes were on her but his mind was miles away. She watched agony and memories flash through his blue eyes, and wondered why he too was having an existential crisis.  
“Mission report, now,” Pierce raised his voice, approaching the Soldier. He leaned in, awaiting a response.   
Nothing.  
And then he slapped him.  
And then Bellona Drager reacted.  
And that was when she knew — she had made her decision.  
Ignoring the pain from the wound, she rose and twisted, wrenching herself free from the guard's’ grip, knocking the gun out of the hand of the guard on her left, and hitting him with a hard uppercut punch to the jaw with her left hand.   
There was a gunshot, and an explosion. But the explosion had only been an echo in her own eardrums and suddenly her right shoulder was afire, more so than it had been before. Bellona’s eyes widened and she let out a choked splutter of surprise as she dropped back to her knees, reeling from the pain of the gunshot. A bullet was lodged in her shoulder, shattering her clavicle and tearing through muscles and ligaments with a ruthless ferocity. She tasted blood in the back of her throat and sank to the floor, supporting herself with her uninjured left arm as she struggled to breath. Pierce had turned at the sound of the gun and glared at a heaving Bellona Drager, then at the guard who had fired the shot.  
“Idiot,” he snapped, seeing the blood, “she’s more useful alive and uninjured!”  
“Sir, she had already suffered a major injury,” one of the doctor’s piped up.  
“How?” Pierce’s tone was the one he would use if he had just been informed his car’s tires had been slashed by a gang of rowdy teenagers.  
“During the assignment,” was the answer, “an explosion sent shrapnel from a vehicle into her arm.”  
Pierce let out an exasperated sigh, as though he had just gotten his tires replaced only to discover that the car battery had died. With a sour face, he looked at the awaiting men in white coats, “fetch a stretcher to take her out of here. Sedate her, and fix her up. Then wipe her.” There was a mumbling of understanding and several of them rushed out of the room, and Pierce turned back to the Soldier, who had simply watched the altercation with puzzled eyes, as though he couldn’t quite grasp what had occurred.  
“There was a man on the bridge,” he said quietly, staring at Pierce for answers. “Who was he?”  
“You met him earlier this week on another assignment,” Pierce replied. The doctors had returned, they quietly ordered the guards around Bellona to load her onto the stretcher. She made no move to resist, the pain was shrieking through her shoulder and down her arm, vibrating across every cell and making every atom hum in response, immobilizing and paralyzing her. As she was stretchered out of the room as fast as possible, she heard the Soldier mumble. “I knew him….”


	37. April 4, 2014

“Cognitive recalibration” is one of Natasha Romanoff’s favorite phrases. In common lingo, it’s defined as “hitting someone really hard over the head to wake them the fuck up”. This can be achieved in a variety of different ways, including but not limited to a helicarrier crashing into a building and causing part of the roof to collapse onto one’s head.  
It was like snapping out of sleepwalking to find herself miles away from where she had fallen asleep. One minute Bellona Drager was docilely sitting before a table in an isolated room somewhere in the upper levels of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion, awaiting unknown orders, guards calmly standing around her, their sharp eyes watching the girl with clouded blue eyes and a bandaged shoulder and arm. The next moment, there was a supersonic boom and explosion as something crashed into the side of the Triskelion, crumbling it to pieces with an overwhelming roar. And then there was chaos; guards screaming and shouting, the ceiling thundering downwards, clouds of dust spewing upwards and outwards. Next thing Bellona knew, she had fallen onto the floor, an egg-sized lump growing on her right temple. She quickly glanced around at the continued pandemonium and tried to remember why she was even there. But she couldn’t; the building was collapsing to pieces and her innate survival instincts seized a hold of her faculties.  
When running for your life, your consciousness shuts down. Fight or flight, and both demand a constant stream of uninterrupted energy. Thinking, the brain’s favorite pastime, expends too much of this energy, therefore, you shut down, controlled only by primal survival instincts.   
Bellona Drager found herself running for her life, thick-soled boots crushing brick and metal and wood that was being churned up from the impact. She didn’t think, she scarcely even breathed. A pain was shrieking somewhere in her body but she ignored it, her self-preservation instincts allowing her to spur herself through the agony. She was pounding down staircases, streaking through hallways, flying past others fleeing.   
The noise was stupendous, a howling, screaming, yelping roar that filled her ears and drilled through her fogged brain. It was spectacular, like the barriers of sound themselves were being broken, all the while churning up memories and recollections of the past few days that would have paralyzed her had she not been so focused on her goal of escaping.  
She found herself outside the building in moments, fleeing from an apocalyptic scene. Bellona Drager was rocketing along the riverbank of the Potomac, just seconds later, the helicarriers were crashing into down into the river, sending tsunami surges of water racing all about the vicinity of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion. Her legs were a blur, her arms pumping despite her accumulated injuries, her heart was beating like lightning, her eyes passed over everything around her, observing everything but reacting to nothing. The only goal was escape. Fight or flight, and this was one of the only times she had ever chosen flight.  
The world was falling apart around her. And she had no idea where anyone was. She remembered waking up with a bandaged right arm, and Alexander Pierce shuttling her off to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to wait for further orders while Project Insight went into effect. Her injuries had prevented her from joining the Soldier in the battle that had evidently taken place on the helicarriers.  
The Soldier.   
Where was he? The thought flashed through her mind as she sprinted away from devastation, still in automatic flight mode, she didn’t notice her pace drift slightly sideways, heading in another direction.  
Without slowing her flight, Bellona Drager sneaked a glance backwards, catching a glimpse of the destructive inferno that was rampaging behind her; therein lay her mistake. Reverting her eyes from the path in front of her resulted in her charging into something hard, metal, and solid. She was flung to a halt and tumbled downwards, landing on top of whatever she had run into.  
She gasped, the syllables ripped from her lips like twin gunshots, “Winter?”  
The word seemed to have no effect on the Soldier, he stared up at her with tortured blue eyes, eyes like she’d never seen them before. They were more alive than ever, and bursting with emotion, thundering like the mayhem behind them; pain, sorrow, confusion, regret, guilt, and a burning self-consciousness that defied brainwashing, defied torture, defied everything that had ever oppressed him — defied even recognizing her.  
He threw her off of him with a violent shove and she went flying away, impacting the nearest tree with a jaw-rattling crash. She hit the rough bark with a scream and crumbled to the ground, landing painfully on her wounded shoulder, though she was more astonished than hurt.   
It was the scream that cut through the vortex in his mind, his eyes landed on the girl crumbled on the ground at the base of the tree and they widened to the size of quarters, fresh guilt washed over him and he fell to his knees before her. “Bells!?”  
“Oh, finally recognize me?” She spat a mouthful of blood out onto the grass before her and reached her left hand up to cautiously check on the injuries to her right shoulder. The blood had begun seeping through the bandages and her entire upper arm was stinging, centralized around where the gun had shattered her collarbone, but she ignored it and turned her glance towards the Soldier. He looked like he’d been through hell and back, but then again he was no stranger to the devil’s lair. He was sopping wet, his hair clinging to his face and neck, he was holding his right shoulder carefully, as though it had been dislocated, and had sustained a formidable amount of other, more minor, flesh wounds. She frowned as she assessed his injuries, wondering who could have the capability to inflict them upon him. “Who did you get in a fight with?”  
The question seemed to throw him once more into the deep abyss of questioning his existence. He silently rolled backwards onto his heels as a wave of despair and horror overcame him. Bellona had never seen him as emotionally charged as he was at the moment, and it was stupefying every time his saturated steel blue eyes met hers, because despite the familiar clicking of synergy in the back of her mind, he had never looked at her the way he was looking at her now, like he was looking at her not entirely as the Winter Soldier, but as someone more, someone lost and found, forgotten and rediscovered.  
“I don’t know…. I do know…. I can’t remember….. His name!? But…. Oh God, I know that face!” Bellona flinched as he suddenly jerked his head up and glanced around wildly, as though expecting some opponent to come barrelling out of the trees towards them. “We have to go, we can’t stay here-”  
“Shut up!” She commanded, and he froze at her words because she had used the same tone he would when giving her orders during a mission. One that was dominant but understanding, knowing that the other would comply with anything requested of them. That was when they both realized they weren’t speaking Russian as per usual between them, but English. The nostalgic familiarity of their native language caused a poignant silence as they stared at each other as though they were truly seeing the other for the first time. And it awed both of them.  
Until finally, she moved. He watched her raise her uninjured hand and snap her fingers, he heard the slight buzzing of energy as air molecules raced around them, creating a ward that encompassed the two, sealing them off from the outside world. Their surroundings, however, remained the same: a wooded area outside the city on the banks of the Potomac.  
With the guarantee of safety for a moment, he jerked back to reality, assessing the situation they were in. “You can’t maintain this for long,” he eyed her wounded shoulder nervously, knowing it would be sapping most of her energy and eventually cause the air ward to fail.  
“We have enough time,” she grunted; struggling to her feet, she closed the gap between her and the Soldier with two strides and unceremoniously pushed him down towards the ground. He tumbled backwards, hissing slightly as his shoulder twinged from the impact.  
“What are you doing-”  
“Your shoulder’s dislocated.”  
“Bells-”  
“Your shoulder-”  
“Yeah, okay. Heal it.”  
Her left hand glowed with a curious white light that began to pool within the palm of her hand like mercury. “This might sting a little,” she warned him, kneeling down beside his injured shoulder, “but it’s just energy in its purest form — completely raw and entirely unstable because it isn’t being used for any type of reaction — yet.”  
He merely watched curiously as she carefully placed her hand on his dislocated shoulder. He sucked in an astonished breath as the white energy began to seep down into his skin, feeling like cool bathwater from the Lake of Avalon as it targeted each of his wounded cells and fueling them with the raw energy to speed up all molecular reactions, accelerating his already enhanced healing process. There was a clicking of bone as his shoulder snapped back into place, along with a whirring of his metal arm as it reacted to the sudden input of energy into his body. It took her several long minutes to heal his wounds entirely, upon finishing she flopped back onto the grassy ground and let out a groan, allowing the remaining wisps of white energy in her palm to float over her own wounds, cooling and healing them.   
“Literally who did you fight?”  
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” her companion sighed and let silence descend between them as they each dealt with the cyclones spinning through their minds, the Soldier wringing his metal hand, the war goddess rubbing the pale scar on her neck. Occasionally, they would glance at the other with a sort of grateful reverence, as though comforted by the fact that not only were they together, but that the other knew exactly what each was going through: sheer, unmitigated mystification.  
It was a several long minutes before Bellona pushed herself up into a sitting position and gave the Soldier a long, searching look.  
“What… do we do... now?”  
He stared blankly at the trees around them without answering for a stretch of time. They both knew what should have come after their unplanned rendezvous in the middle of the woods near the Potomac: return to Headquarters. But something was different now, the rules had changed, the game had changed, everything had changed.  
“We run,” he finally replied in a calm voice, turning and looking directly at her, and she saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before: self-volition.   
“Where?”  
“Away from here.”  
“When do we start?”  
“Now. But before we go, there’s something I have to do first.”


	38. April 7, 2014

Tony Stark was beyond pissed. S.H.I.E.L.D. was HYDRA, Fury was dead, Bella was missing, Mr. Star-Spangled Banner was useless but his new friend was somewhat funny, Romanoff had admitted she knew less than Cap did, the entire world was reeling from the millions of pages of once-classified info from S.H.I.E.L.D., and since S.H.I.E.L.D. was actually HYDRA, it was hard to discern what data had been S.H.I.E.L.D.’s and what had been HYDRA’s, and his phone kept fucking ringing.  
“I still have no idea what the hell happened in the very short time you were all here,” Tony had announced when he busted into Steve Rogers’ apartment to find the Captain and another army vet, who he’d been informed was Sam Wilson, (codenamed Falcon because he had a bird suit or something stupid like that) sitting around the kitchen table with a file of dusty looking paperwork before Rogers and a laptop before his companion.  
“Neither do I, Tony,” Cap sighed, “neither do I.”  
“And so I’ll ask again — where is Bella?”  
“We don’t know!” Steve was becoming exasperated; Tony Stark had arrived in Washington while he was still in the hospital, and had apparently spent those few days interrogating everyone from Agent Romanoff to the guy who’d shot the video that had gone viral of one of the helicarriers crashing into the Triskelion, searching for some shred of evidence that Bellona Drager was alive. All roads led to nowhere, however.  
“She’s not dead,” Sam spoke up, “I’ve a feeling she’s very hard to kill.”  
“We found her bag here,” Steve informed Tony, pointing at the leather shoulder bag that only contained a laptop. “Natasha found it right on the table when she came to check on the place while I was in the hospital. We think Bella came back for it at some point, took whatever she needed out of it, and left only that.”  
Tony rummaged through the bag like it was his last hope, and perhaps it was. He pulled out the laptop and looked disappointed, until a glimmer of comprehension struck him. “She has to have her phone on her then,” he muttered, mostly trying to convince himself as he whipped open the laptop and booted it up. “Her phone is untraceable — but I can rewrite the software of the server and satellite it uses to see if I can find her.”  
Steve nodded along to whatever Tony was saying, wishing he could do the same for his own best friend whom was also missing. The file Natasha had pulled some strings to get into his hands was like getting punched in the gut by the icy hand of the past, and while he found himself guiltily relieved Bucky hadn’t plunged to his death from the train all those years ago, as he scoured the file on the Winter Soldier, he wondered if Bucky would have preferred the dying to the killing.  
“This is crazy….” Sam groaned after a few moments of silence between the three, each focused on the task before them; Tony with hacking his own software, Steve with the Winter Soldier file, while Sam was surfing through the pages upon pages of classified data released to the public by Natasha when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and HYDRA was exposed, trying to find anything that might relate to both missing persons cases they had on their hands.  
“Hey Cap,” Sam cleared his throat a while later, his eyes glued to the screen before him, wondering if what he had just stumbled across was true. “Find anything…. Interesting in that?”  
“All of it’s interesting,” Steve replied with a slight sigh; he’d barely gotten past the first few pages, his eyes kept returning to the photograph of Bucky from the 1940’s in his sergeant uniform.  
“How far along are you?”  
“Not far.”  
“I’d suggest you start going a little faster.” Steve glanced up to spot the disturbed look on Sam’s face.  
“You’re gonna wanna see this,” to Steve’s surprise, Sam’s words weren’t directed at him, but at Tony, whose hands paused from flying across the keyboard before him.  
“What?” The billionaire asked, annoyed he’d been interrupted.  
“How much of what’s gone viral have you looked at?”  
“Practically none,” Tony said dismissively, “can’t trust anything on the internet these days. Too many kids with too much time on their hands. Jarvis is running through the good stuff for me. It’s taking a while — S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA also had too much time on their hands apparently.”  
“Jesus,” Sam whistled slowly, his eyes still on the screen before him, “I think I know where your supposed-to-be-dead best friend is, Tony.”  
“Where?!”  
“With Cap’s supposed-to-be-dead best friend.” 

 

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Tony Stark thought he was angry before. He didn’t even know what he was feeling now. He’d abandoned rewriting the software and had Jarvis pull up the leaked data concerning Bellona Drager. Everything HYDRA had on her was encrypted but he’d broken through easily and was pouring through the pages of info, while Steve had reached the back of the Winter Soldier file and was confirming everything Tony was snarling off the screen before him.   
Apparently James Barnes and Bellona Drager were the most infamous pair of assassins HYDRA and the Soviets had created.   
“This would explain why she was on the bridge that day,” Sam piped up, bringing a tray loaded with steaming hot cups of coffee to the table they were still huddled around. “She had no idea who any of us were, and almost killed Romanoff. They probably brainwashed her — or whatever they did to Barnes to make him not remember you.”  
“Of course,” Steve sighed, “Pierce knew. He must have taken her to wherever they were keeping Bucky that day when we went to see him. She was supposed to meet up with me at the hospital later, and never did. We didn’t have time to figure out what had happened because then HYDRA was onto us….”  
“She wasn’t on the helicarriers later though,” Sam recalled as a Tony snatched up a cup of coffee and took a deep swig from it, looking thoroughly pissed.   
“She was injured,” Steve commented, staring down at a grainy black and white photograph paperclipped onto the back of the Winter Soldier file that showed two figures, one taller than the other, standing in a shadowy alleyway, a curious white glow was around the shorter figure’s hands, like she was holding a miniature sun. “Pierce probably sent her somewhere else to wait until Insight was complete. Bucky vanished after he pulled me from the river. Now Bella’s missing as well….”  
“And seeing as HYDRA programmed them to play tag-team murder assassins together,” Tony spat viciously, “we can safely assume they met up after shit hit the fan and are now missing together.”  
“We know Bella came back here recently,” Steve gestured towards the solemn-looking leather shoulder bag that was in the middle of the table, papers from the file he had ripped apart scattered over it now.  
“But where is she now?” Tony’s voice rose to a shout and he let the empty coffee mug he clutched drop to the table with a sharp bang. He didn’t like the sickening guilt of failure that overcame him because HYDRA had taken Bella from him, again. He was all she had, and he’d been stupid enough to allow her to go to D.C., thinking she’d be safely under the wing of, if not Fury, then Cap and Romanoff. She was his little sister, his responsibility, his parent’s godchild, his only family left. He could practically see his mother’s disappointed countenance gazing sadly at him for allowing this to happen. “Where is she now?”   
As if in response to his outburst, his phone buzzed loudly, vibrating on the table like an alarm announcing an incoming enemy assault. The three around the table froze for a moment, stunned by the dramatic noise, before Tony practically lunged across the table and snatched up the phone because he knew exactly who that text tone belonged to.  
“It’s Bella!” He shouted excitedly, eyes growing huge as he gazed down at the phone, holding his breath.  
Then Steve and Sam saw the eager look on his face slip slowly away before he frowned in confusion, staring down at his phone as though it was playing some sort of practical joke on him.  
“What did she say?” Steve ventured slowly, taming the excitement in his own voice because finding where Bella was meant finding where Bucky was.  
“She…. It’s just a text saying that she still wants a shipment of…. Of the super-soldier alcohol I’m working on.... as her next birthday present….”  
“What?!” The expressions on Sam and Steve’s faces were identical as they stared at Tony Stark; whatever had just come out of his mouth seemed so ludicrous, neither of them knew what to think.  
“Did she say anything else?” Steve finally managed to ask.  
“Only where to send it to....” Tony muttered, his eyes glued to the phone before him, not happy with what he was seeing. “Wait….” The phone clattered from his hands as he turned to the computer before him. “Dammit I should have rewritten the software first….. Once I do that I should be able to trace…. Shit….”  
“What is it?” Sam questioned, confused further by Tony’s rapid descent into defeated silence.  
“She’s clever,” Tony groaned, leaning back into his chair and rubbing his temple with a hand. Everything was getting more unbelievable by the second. “Too clever. And here I was thinking she wasn’t into technology that much.”  
“What did she do?” Steve demanded answers, Tony’s hysterical antics were driving him insane.  
“She left only the laptop here for a reason. She configured it to send me that text at exactly….” Tony checked the timestamp of the message, “eight thirty-seven. It’s useless to try to trace it, seeing as this very location would appear.”  
“That’s smart,” Steve sighed again, hiding his disappointment, “that’s tactical.”  
“Wait a minute,” Sam interrupted, “didn’t you say that the other thing Bella said was where to send this super-soldier alcohol you’ve allegedly invented?”  
“Well, it’s still in the works, I haven’t exactly had any test subjects,” his eyes strayed towards Steve who hit him with a swift shake of his head. “She sent only an address.”  
“Could that be where they are then?” Sam looked appalled that Tony hadn’t thought of this before.  
“No, because that would be even stupider than calling up HYDRA and telling them her location,” Tony looked grim, “the address she sent is her old house in Boston.”  
“They wouldn’t dare go there,” Steve remarked, “not with HYDRA and everyone looking for them. Besides, if all the files got leaked, it means the world now knows Bellona Drager isn’t dead. Going back to where she used to live would be like walking into a burning building — seeing as they’re clearly being highly strategic about disappearing, Bucky wouldn’t be stupid enough to go to Boston.”  
At his last sentence Tony Stark straightened in his chair and sent the Captain a cold hard stare. “Since when did this become all about your friend?”  
“I never said that, Tony.”  
“Yeah but you’ve been thinking it this whole time,” Tony was seething, “it’s all about your little old war buddy, isn’t it? You just can’t seem to let go of the past, can you, Cap?”  
Steve couldn’t help himself. He straightened in his chair and let the Winter Soldier file fall from his grasp, landing quietly on the table before him, the picture of Bucky in his sergeant uniform just peeking out from around the edge. Looking Tony Stark dead in the face, he raised an eyebrow. “Can you, Tony?”


	39. April 11, 2014

“How do you get ‘Bucky’ from ‘James Buchanan Barnes’?” Her long French braid was tucked under an unmarked baseball cap as she stood in the World War II section of the Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. — more specifically, in the Captain America exhibit, staring at the likeness of a man long dead, except that he stood beside her, in a matching cap and grasping her hand as though it was the only thing keeping him rooted in sanity.  
He didn’t answer; she hadn’t expected him to, though his hand was suddenly clutching hers much tighter as the muscles in his jaw rippled slowly upon seeing his own face staring back at him, bringing a sense of ghostly disembodiment and physical displacement.  
Neither knew how long they stood there, simply staring, an understanding silence between them, learning the story of Sergeant James Barnes until she tugged at his hand. “C’mon, we’re starting to look suspicious.” He followed her deeper into the museum like a lost puppy, his eyes glazed as he gazed around at his surroundings, trying to absorb it all. It was like some sort of surreal dream that made him starkly aware of how much time he’d missed.  
“Why didn’t Steve ever talk about you,” she mused, mostly to herself.  
“Steve….” he finally muttered, a few lines crinkling his forehead in confusion, his eyes seemed pained, as though trying to sort through the multitude of foggy memories that the name stirred up. That name….  
“Steve Rogers,” she clarified, pulling him across the room to the wall plastered with facts and figures about the super-soldier. “Your…. Best friend….” The pair slowly circled the room, reading and then rereading every scrap of information the museum offered and ignoring every other visitor who wandered about, as though they were in their own personal bubble that obeyed their predetermined laws of time and space. She noticed the flickers behind his eyes were of greater intensity when studying the displays of pre-serum Steve Rogers and any aspects of his personal life than when dully watching the glorified Captain America snapshots with Cap in his full uniform and waving his shield about like a trained monkey in a propaganda film.  
“So this is kind of confusing,” Bellona Drager murmured as they watched the replaying footage that displayed scenes of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes talking, laughing, and planning together during World War II. “Steve was your best friend but you almost murdered him on orders. You kidnapped me on orders, but bought me a coffee this morning. What are we?”  
“Talking too loud — that’s what we are.”  
“C’mon Winter-”  
“Excuse me?” An unexpected voice pitched them out of their petty argument. Bellona felt the Soldier beside her tense, his grip on her hand tightened and she could almost hear the metal creaking of his left arm as his muscles poised themselves, expecting a fight. The pair glanced down to spot a young girl, a child with soft golden curls and rosy cheeks, barely older than four years, standing beside Bellona Drager and gently pulling on the sleeve of her jacket in admiration. How she managed to sneak up on the two assassins was inexplicable, and for a brief moment both thought they were looking at some sort of enhanced HYDRA agent.  
“Are you a princess?” The girl asked, tilting her head and staring into brilliant blue eyes with her own hazel irises. “You look like a princess. I'm a princess too, you know.”  
“I'm sure you are,” Bellona responded, calmly tapping her forefinger against the gloved metal hand in her own, attempting to relieve the tension that was still soaking the Soldier while keeping her eyes on the child before her. She didn’t look like a HYDRA agent, and there certainly wasn’t any hostile energy emanating from the girl.  
“I am! You're a princess too, I can tell. Mommy says only princesses can spot other princesses. You know what else Mommy says?”  
“What else?” She asked automatically, because HYDRA agents wouldn’t be that excited about princesses and the child was also the first human being whom the Winter Soldier didn’t immediately look like he wanted to hamstring for staring at Bellona Drager.  
“Mommy also says that the movies are wrong, that princesses are the ones to save their princes, not the other way around.”  
Bellona’s laugh was like the pleased pealing of soft bells, and the sound seemed to relax the man standing next to her more than anything. She shot a glance over at him before turning back to smile at the young girl. “Your mommy is right about that.”   
The child had not missed her look at the man beside her so after Bellona had responded the girl leaned in, pointed at the Soldier in the baseball cap and whispered. “Is that your prince?” The girl then straightened and smiled with tiny pink lips, “he looks more like a knight. How many dragons has he slain?”  
She couldn’t help but snort at the innocent irony of the child’s question. “He's slain many dragons, some with my help. Now why don't you run back to your mother?”  
“Okay! Bye princess! I'm a princess too! I hope you and the knight slay more dragons together!” The girl giggled, waved at the pair, then whipped around and darted back across the museum, her flower print dress and blonde curls disappearing into the crowd.   
Bellona Drager glanced slyly up at the Winter Soldier and gave him a grin that could only be described as utterly smug and entirely shit-eating. “Can I call you the Winter Knight now?”  
“No,” she was surprised by the grave intensity that was burning through his eyes as he abandoned his grip on her right hand and wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, an intensity that was immediately softened by the slight curling of his lips into a smile as he gazed down at her. “It’s Bucky.”


	40. May 29, 2014

“It’s his birthday.”  
“So?”  
“I wanna piss him off.”  
“And risk giving away our location while doing so? Doesn’t seem worth it.”  
“That’s why I’ve constructed a big elaborate plan.”  
“All because it’s his birthday?”  
“Well…. Yeah.”  
“Bells…. Do you remember when your birthday is?”  
That shut her up. Sitting in the passenger seat of a very much stolen and then expertly hotwired black Jeep Wrangler, Bellona Drager slumped backwards and tugged on her baseball cap to hide the panicked anger that had flushed her face. No, she couldn’t remember her own birthday, at least not the exact date. But it was definitely during one of the colder months on the calendar — that much felt correct. And she knew it was Tony Stark’s birthday. Today. How she knew, she wasn’t sure. But she knew.   
Bucky Barnes was now silent on this issue, because he didn’t know either. His gloved hands were calmly resting atop the wheel of the Jeep, parked on a side street across from a cemetery just a few blocks away from the Hopkins International Airport in Cleveland, Ohio. They’d been traipsing about the States for almost two months, picking up newspapers at convenience stores to keep up to date on the happenings in the world and ignoring Bellona’s ringing phone. After he threatened to crush it with his metal hand, she had eventually shut it off and had yet to turn it back on.   
“Okay, I’ve got a better big elaborate plan now,” she finally announced after a few moments of quiet between them that consisted of her trying to pretend like James Buchanan Barnes hadn’t caused her to have another existential crisis. “We leave the U.S., as you wanted to do, if I make this phone call. But okay, listen, this is where it gets strategic: we don’t fly out from here. We drive to, like, Canada or something, and take a flight out from there. That way, if they do trace the call back to this location, since we’re near an airport, they’ll think we flew out from Ohio and will monitor those flights, not flights out of Ottawa.”  
Bucky was silent as he considered this. It had its risks, then again, everything they did had its risks.  
“Oh, and one more thing,” he didn’t like the tone she’d taken up. “I get to drive.”  
“No.”  
“Seriously? It’s just a phone call. And it’ll be for like two min-”  
“No — Yes to everything, but you’re not driving.”  
“Why does nobody ever let me drive?” She complained as Bucky shifted the car out of park and rolled it down the street. She wasn’t entirely sure what else she was referring to, but the notion of someone in a Jeep not letting her drive seemed eerily familiar to her, and made her want to call Tony Stark on his birthday all the more. “Where are we going right now?” She asked while he cruised the Jeep around the residential neighborhood and onto the main street that headed towards the airport.  
“Finding a payphone.”  
“Fine,” she relented; it would have been easier to use her cell, but it also involved a greater risk.  
They eventually stumbled upon one outside a ghostly gas station a few miles from the airport.  
“Two minutes,” Bucky told her, “call him. Then we have to disappear.”  
“Two minutes,” she agreed in a sing-song voice as she whipped the car door open and flew across the poorly paved lot over to the payphone, feeding it coins as quickly as possible and demanding the operator connect her to the Avengers Tower in New York City. Feeling eyes on her, she turned and spotted Bucky anxiously staring at her through the windshield of the Jeep, parked several yards away, his focus on her unblinking, intense, and almost predatorial. She stared back as though challenging him, maintaining eye contact while the line went through.  
“Get me Tony Stark,” she ordered the receptionist who had picked up.  
“May I ask who’s calling?” The slightly taken-aback sounding woman asked.  
“No you may not,” Bellona said firmly, leaning against the rickety side of the payphone and casually curling the phone’s wire around her hand while she smirked at Bucky, watching irritation shift across his facial features.  
“....Mr. Stark is currently away on personal business-”  
“Then put me through to his private cell.”  
“I’m afraid I cannot do that without knowing who’s calling.”  
She broke eye contact with Bucky Barnes only to roll her eyes at the receptionist’s haughty tone. “Please inform Tony Stark that he has a call from Bellona Drager.”  
There was a silence on the other end of the line, though the blue-eyed girl detected a slight shift in the receptionist’s breathing pattern before the line went dead and Tony Stark’s voice suddenly filled her ears.  
“BELLA!?”  
“Tony,” she stated his name coolly, far too coolly for the billionaire’s liking.  
“Where are you? What are you doing? Are you alright?”  
“I’m fine,” she remarked, and both her and Bucky’s eyes darted away from the other’s to glance at the whining rusty red pickup truck that had pulled into the gas station, the only other vehicle there. “I know you’re doing everything you can to trace this call right now, so I won’t tell you where I am — that wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?”  
“Well it depends on how you look at it-”  
“Anyway, happy birthday old man,” her eyes had flown back to meet Bucky’s. “Don’t bother looking for me, it’d be too much trouble for you. Unless you’re up for the challenge.... You know, I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon….”  
She watched Bucky raise a hand and mime tapping a watch while Tony’s voice rose in panic, sensing she was about to end the call.   
“Bella, no, don’t hang up! Who are you with, are you with Barnes? Keep talking-”  
“Bye Stark! Happy birthday, say hi to Cap and Nat for me, and Clint, Banner, and Thor if you see him too! Miss you guys! Not really though, but I’ll send you postcards….” And she slammed the phone back onto the hook, cutting off Tony’s increasingly frantic protests.  
“Bad breakup, babycakes?” She turned to spot the occupants of the run-down truck that had pulled into the station a few moments ago; they were a bunch of college kids in snapbacks and Nikes with auras of alcohol about them. One of them was working on opening the rusted-over gas hatch of the truck while the two others had exited the vehicle and were leaning against the side of the truck’s cab, both clutching freshly cracked cans of beer. The one who had spoken was giving her a leering grin while the other was taking in her figure over his can of beer with lusty eyes. From the crude comment, it appeared they hadn’t heard a single word of her conversation, rather had merely sighted her harsh action of hanging up the phone.  
“Terrible!” She cried, easily affecting a high-pitched, just-got-dumped girlfriend tone. “He said he doesn’t love me anymore!”  
“Aw, how could anyone not love you sweetcheeks?” The one pumping gas crowed, his friends laughing and whistling raucously along to his comment.  
“Come on over here, babe, we won’t treat you like he did,” another crooned, downing a gulp of beer and snickering.  
“I’d love to, boys, but my ride is here,” she sighed dramatically and took a step away from the payphone, to where the hulking black Jeep had slowly crept up from behind the pickup truck and come to a halt a few paces away from the girl with the long braid.  
The three whistled slowly, eyeing the wrangler, evidently impressed. “Sweet ride babe. Your daddy buy that for you?”  
“Get in the car.” Bucky’s command was like a bullet, emotionless and lethal. He’d rolled the passenger window down and growled at her. She tugged open the door and hopped in immediately, sending the now silent group of boys a taunting wink before slamming the door shut and the Jeep streaked out of the station.  
“What were you doing?” His voice was low and demanding.  
“What do you mean? I was calling Tony-”  
“No, after that.”  
“The call was only two minutes-”  
“You were out of this car for four minutes and fifty-seven seconds.”  
“Okay?”  
“Why didn’t you stick to the plan?”  
“I was sticking to the plan. I ended the call and now we’re leaving, and you’re driving.”  
“No, I mean with all those punks.”  
“They were just talking to me. And I was... improvising.”  
“No, you were messing around, and it cost us time.”  
“What was I supposed to do?”  
“Stick to the plan.”  
“I was sticking to the plan!”  
“The plan didn’t include flirting with three drunk jerks.”  
“I wasn’t flirting with them! I was improvising, trying not to look suspicious.”  
“The plan was for you to call Stark and then we leave immediately. I didn’t say you could improvise.”  
“How were you supposed to be able to tell me to improvise from across the parking lot?”  
“You could have looked.”  
“I was looking at you the whole time.”  
“Not when those punks showed up.”  
“It wouldn't have worked logistically-”  
“So you were just messing around.”  
“I told you, I was improvising.”  
“Do you want to go back and improvise some more?”  
“What?” She snapped in exasperation, completely muddled by how Bucky was reacting; his tone was completely void of all emotion but his body language was becoming dangerously threatening.  
“I can turn around and drop you off. And then you can mess around with those punks and Stark can come get you.” His tone was so empty, so monotonous, that she could hardly grasp his actual opinion. She wasn’t sure if he was joking around with her; this was one of the longest conversations they’d had since running into each other along the banks of the Potomac. Actually, it was one of the longest conversations they’d ever had. You never had to talk much when you could communicate efficiently through your eyes and your only purpose was silent assassination.  
“Drive.” The word was short and imperious, but it sounded forced and panicked coming from her lips.  
“You don't follow the plan then you think you can give me orders.” It wasn't a question, and it wasn't even mocking. It was merely a blunt statement. And it was spoken in Russian. The northern language sounded aggressive and controlling, and Bellona found herself internally struggling, fighting against her mind’s instant impulses to look over at him or to respond in the same language.  
“What the hell is the problem, Barnes?” She hissed, spitting the words out in English.  
She was relieved when he replied in his native language. “I don’t understand why you didn’t follow the plan.” God, he sounded like a five year old who was on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum because he spotted another kid playing with his favorite toy on the playground.  
Bellona was silent for a moment, unsure how to reply because she was unsure how he would react to whatever she would say. She still maintained her vision directly ahead on the highway thundering around them, though she could sense the tension emanating from the former Winter Soldier beside her and the looks he was shooting her from the corners of his eyes.  
“I was impro-”  
“Improvising. You said that,” he’d slipped back into Russian again, unknowingly and unconsciously, his voice antagonistic and accusing but still a deadly monotone. “You’ve never had to improvise before.”  
She snapped her jaw shut and clenched her teeth together; her hands gripping the sides of the passenger seat were trembling with so much unleashed energy, she was sure that if the silver bracelets hadn’t been firmly clasped around her wrists she would have exploded the Wrangler in seconds. It was like every gear in her brain was straining against a small spring of her evaporating willpower, urging her to just turn her head and look at him, to just make eye contact and await orders.  
That was it. That was the problem. Orders. They didn’t have orders. So he didn’t know how to command her. Heck, he didn’t even know if he was supposed to command her. But he always had, so he did, without thinking. And she seemed to expect it, accept it, want it, even. So watching her “improvise” was like watching a gun in his hand fire without having pulled the trigger. The world had never worked that way before, and now that it did, it was terrifying. It was like watching the laws of physics cease to work, gravity to not stop a falling object, a muscle to flex without the brain’s bidding. So he didn’t like watching Bellona Drager flirt with several inebriated idiots, what she called “improvising”. But he didn’t know what part of him didn’t like it — the Soldier or the Sergeant.  
Unhinging her jaw to speak English was like trying to yank out her own teeth; Bellona’s tongue was already curling around Cyrillic syllables when she choked out a remark. “We’ve never been the targets before.”


	41. June 7, 2014

_ Natalia Alianovna Romanova didn’t believe in gods. She possessed dutiful reverence for certain things, of course. The cool metal of a gun, the bark of a bullet, the snapping of a man’s neck under her hands. They could reach towards unattainable empyrean — death was power, death was divine. She could deliver death. But that didn’t mean she had power, that didn’t mean she was divine. She was just a fourteen year-old girl who had no place in the world. And gods were something she had no time for.  _

_ Until she glimpsed death in its most consummate form. _

_ She and the twenty-seven other girls her age had a new instructor. A soldier. Tall. Strong. With a metal arm. It was after a few times of learning how lethal a well-sharpened knife could be and how much strategy went behind a sniper’s rifle that  _ she  _ joined him as well. _

_ None of the girls knew what to think of her. It was confusing at first; they weren’t given an explanation. Maybe their number was to become twenty-nine? Maybe she was another instructor. Maybe she was their live dummy. _

_ She was short. Shorter than most of the girls. That was puzzling, because the rolling step of her gait implied she was older. Much older. And experienced. She had silver chainmail-like material covering her forearms. That was intriguing, and inexplicable. Some of the girls eyed her long snake-like braid curiously, but her eyes were what stopped you short and made you suddenly aware of your own breathing. And the synergy, the synergy was evident the moment she stepped into the room. He had a metal arm and she had metal eyes. Cold, unforgiving, merciless.  _

_ Natalia Alianovna Romanova thought the Soldier had been laconic before, but between him and the girl with blue eyes, they were absolutely taciturn. She thought it odd at first, until she realized that they didn’t need to speak to each other. That was when she glimpsed the whisperings of divinity behind their eyes. One glance from him and she would react in response, demonstrating to the girls where to aim when wielding a knife or which bullet was the most efficient for a quick, silent job. A short look and she would switch tactics, letting the girls test out the new move or new weapon given to them by the pair. A flash of his eyes and she would step forward, or back. _

_ And once, they had demonstrated hand-to-hand combat before all twenty-eight. It was fascinating. In a morbid kind of way. She found herself succumbing to deep veneration for the pair. Most of the girls did, they couldn’t help it; it was like they’d been graced with seats upon Mount Olympus to watch Ares fight Mars. Except Ares  _ was  _ Mars. They weren’t two dueling opponents, but one entity of graceful limbs and long hair battling for the same goal. _

_ She didn’t know what that goal was. Perhaps they didn’t know either, just two gods, locked on a battleground of desolation, ravaging and massacring because ichor flowed through their veins, not the weak scarlet lifeblood of mortal humans. _

_ It was violent. But it was beautiful. The way weapons are flawlessly crafted to bring inexorable death to their targets. Engineered to perfection to inflict destruction. _

_ Natalia Alianovna Romanova didn’t believe in gods. But if death was divine then she had witnessed deities.  _

 

Natasha Romanoff jumped awake in a cold sweat, finding her muscles quivering and her head pounding; the unbidden dream of a memory long-buried, both with and without her own-volition, had left her a shaking mess in the middle of the night. She had forgotten entirely about that part of her training in the Red Room, because what it had resulted in had been rather unpleasant — their number dropped below twenty-eight. And the Soviet Union couldn’t have that blemish preying upon the psyches of their girls.

But it was coming back to her now, in a throbbing pulse of a headache as her brain shivered with the sudden, spontaneous recollection.

_ One of the girls was curious about her braid. Too curious. It was intricate and delicately-woven, but sleek and serpentine — like a weapon. The girl had always been the weakest link of the twenty-eight, easily beguiled by frivolities despite wearing the same mask every girl wore. _

_ The training session had ended and the girls were concealing their exhaustion behind stoic expressions, though they sometimes slipped up and would cast an awed glance at the Soldier with the metal arm and the goddess with the metal eyes. You couldn’t look at one of them, you had to look at both. _

_ She had watched breathlessly as the girl approached the blue-eyed deity and questioned her about the braid, why did she have it — wouldn’t it come as a logistical disadvantage in a fight? _

_ She remembered how devastating the smirk in reply to this was. It made shivers run down her spine, and she was across the room. She wondered how the stupid girl hadn’t dropped dead right there. _

_ The glance the goddess shared with the metal Soldier was nearly imperceptible, before she reached up with a chainmail-encased hand and asked the girl if she’d like to inspect it. _

_ The girl, of course, thinking she was receiving some sort of honor, had accepted with delight. _

_ The next thing the twenty-seven other girls knew, their silly colleague had collapsed to the floor, writhing as icy, biting air wrapped its way around her limbs with the ferocity of an uncaged animal, air so cold it burned, almost as fiercely as the blue eyes- _

Natasha Romanoff snapped her own green eyes open, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the pressure squeezing about her head. The memory had been extinguished from her mind, entirely smothered by false recollections of ballet. They had all forgotten the metal gods who’d trained them and then forgotten them as well. Until now.

Relaxing her breathing and wiping her dampened hair away from her face, she reached towards the nightstand beside the bed, pushed aside the cool metal of her loaded handgun, picked up her cell phone, and dialed a number.

“Look Romanoff, I don’t know what time it is where you are-”

“Shut up and listen Tony,” she growled into the phone, “are you still looking for Bellona?”

“Well seeing as she hasn’t exactly been found, yes, I am.”

“Then count me in as part of the search party.”


	42. July 1, 2014

 

“You have  _ how much money  _ in your name?”

“Shh! I don’t want be overheard, but it’s a lot,” Bellona Drager said quietly across the tiny table to an astonished Bucky Barnes. They were sitting in an isolated corner in a small cafè somewhere in Munich, Germany, two cups of coffee before them.

“That’s why you’ve been pulling plane tickets out of nowhere,” he mused with a shake of his head. “I didn’t know plane tickets were so goddamn expensive — why’s air travel even so big now?”

Bellona shrugged, taking a sip of the strong espresso in her cup. It sometimes threw her into a loop to remember that James Buchanan Barnes had been alive in the 1940’s and his anachronistic understanding of the world was much greater than hers.

The pair had been trekking about Europe for months, checking in and out of hotels, hostels, and questionable inns every day, Bellona making sure to leave false trails — Tony Stark was looking for her, and she knew Steve Rogers would be searching for Bucky Barnes. They couldn’t be sure if HYDRA was tracking them at all, but they still refused to take any chances. Tony had called Bellona everyday for two weeks after she had tauntingly called him on his birthday; once out of the U.S., she had rebooted her cell phone only to have it shut itself down again from the sheer number of texts and calls that she had. She knew full well that Tony’s own technology had come back to bite him: everything she did, every withdrawal, every purchase, every transfer, was untraceable on the Stark Secure Server; but even so, she assumed he’d rewritten his own software to track her movements. Therefore the trail she’d been leaving was ridiculously random, spanning throughout a dozen countries. The last crumb she’d dropped was in Gondomar, Portugal over two weeks ago, when she withdrew over $1,000 in various European currencies; they found between the two of them it was more than easy to….  _ persuade  _ anyone to accept hard cash for whatever purchase they needed to carry out. They’d been to three different countries since Portugal, hitching about in “borrowed cars” all over the European continent, entertaining themselves by coming up with false names to give to the hotels and hostels that were legitimate enough to require a name, and Bellona Drager had never spent so much money on coffee before, seeing as one of the first things the former Winter Soldier had informed her of after they ditched the United States was that she could dump as much caffeine into her system as she wished. 

Bells jingled welcome as the door of the cafè swung open, admitting a new customer. Bucky’s eyes darted over towards the entrance immediately, assessing the threat capacity of the newcomer. Bellona remained silent as she watched him do this, using the expression in his eyes to gauge the potential danger instead of turning and glancing over her shoulder. It was the sudden explosion of shock, realization, and recognition in his eyes that caused her to slowly lower her coffee cup and stare at him with narrowed eyes. And it was only because of her understanding of the need for control in a situation that she did not whip around and glare across the cafè.

Bucky’s eyes flicked back to her and she watched his Adam’s apple bob with anxiety as he picked up his nondescript baseball cap and placed it back over his head. They both unconsciously leaned in to speak in hushed voices, simultaneously maintaining the appearance of an average civilian couple sharing a coffee. A casual glance would slide right over them, not suspecting the pair to be the most dangerous fugitives on the planet. 

“I don’t know who he is, but he’s supposed to be dead,” Bucky murmured quietly, his eyes wide as he stared across at Bellona, worry flashed briefly across his face before it hardened into a controlled mask, only his eyes betraying his emotions.

“Isn’t everyone supposed to be dead?” She chuckled softly, “including us.”

“No, dead as in I shot him.”

“What?” She clamped her teeth around the gasp that threatened to escape her lips. Those he shot usually didn't come back to life. 

“Look,” he ordered, dipping his head downwards to take a casual sip from his coffee. Bellona carefully, cautiously turned her head slightly in the direction of where the newcomer would be. She quickly snapped her head back, reaching up to tug on her own baseball cap, as though to ensure it would hide enough of her face should curious eyes glance their way. He may have been wearing dark sunglasses, a hat, and civilian clothing, but she still recognized Nicholas J. Fury. 

“You know who he is?” Bucky’s mouth had barely moved but she heard him as though he’d spoken directly into her ear.

She ducked her head in a nod and sneaked another glance at the former director of S.H.I.E.L.D., which was now a non-existent government program. Under her vintage leather jacket, the brands seemed to burn with a sharp fire on her right forearm. 

“He’s undercover too,” she whispered, sliding her right elbow onto the table and letting her chin rest on her hand, tilting her head towards Bucky so both of their faces would be concealed should Fury quickly look towards them. “But he’s still going to survey the room, detect any threats or suspicious activity — it’s in his nature.” She calmly dropped her left hand from her coffee cup and let it lay innocently on the table, her palm facing upwards. She shot Bucky a knowing glance. They both knew the sleeve of her jacket covered the bracelets she wore on each wrist. His eyes flicked down to her bare palm, then back upwards across the cafè where Nick Fury stood before the counter, placing his order.

“He saw us the minute he stepped in,” Bucky said regretfully, “he didn’t recognize us, but we can’t use an air ward and disappear — he’d notice if two people just vanished. We shouldn’t have come here this early.” Other than a professionally dressed man speaking rapidly in German about real estate prices with a laptop before him on the other side of the room, the pair were the only ones present in the cafè.

“Dammit,” she growled, clenching her fingers and allowing them to wrap back around her coffee cup. She raised it to her lips and took a slow, drawn out sip, her eyes on Bucky’s face as he kept his head down. She could see the tensing muscles in his jaw and neck as he prepared himself for a fight. He was always preparing himself for a fight.

“Pretend to be talking to me,” Bellona demanded with a sharp undertone. 

“What?” Bucky was perplexed because it felt fundamentally wrong when _she_ gave _him_ orders. “Why?”  
“So we don’t look like we’re waiting for him to leave,” she hissed, leaning towards him.

“Okay so what are we gonna talk about-”

“Anything! The universe, the meaning of life, the meaning of death, existential nihilism, Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, how Karl Marx planned to implement communism, why American politics are the worst, why Twitter has taken the world by storm….”

“I don’t even know what Twitter is.”

“I found out two years ago but didn’t make an account because two years ago I was still dead.”

“I still don’t know what Twitter is.”

“Okay wait what if-”

“He’s looking this way.”

“And you’re looking tense, stop or you’ll attract more attention than we want. I like this cafè, I don’t want to have to leave it a charred ruin.”

“Who says that will happen?”

“Is he still looking this way?”

“No — he’s leaving.”

“What kind of coffee do you think he ordered?”

“Are you serious?”

“Is he looking this way now?”

“No — yeah he’s looking, he’s walking out. Move forty-five degrees to the left…. And…. he’s gone.”

Both breathed a sigh of relief, visibly slumping down towards the table. Bellona chugged the last of her coffee. “I need another.”

“What we need,” Bucky grunted, rising from the table, “is to leave. This place, this city, this country. Now.”

“Where to?” Bellona followed him immediately.

“Don’t know. You pick.”

“Hmmm…. We haven’t been to Italy yet. I know Italian, I can teach you.”

“You speak Italian?”

“Uh…. Yeah….”

“Since when?”

“I… I don’t know….”

Exiting the cafè , they were silent as they hailed a cab passing by on the Munich street that was growing increasingly congested as the morning progressed. Bucky had gotten over his initial displeasure of taking cabs when they'd almost been caught attempting to hotwire a car Bellona claimed “wasn't worth enough to buy.” Besides, cab drivers wouldn't talk about even the most suspicious of passengers if you paid them enough.

“Munich Airport, please,” Bellona requested in polite German as they hopped into the back of the cab and it pulled away from the curb. “As fast as possible.” The driver stepped on the gas and the car shot down the street. Silence reigned in the enclosed space for less than a heartbeat before Bellona let out a sharp gasp and Bucky’s right hand flew towards the door handle.

“Relax,” came the driver’s voice, “if I’d wanted to arrest you, I would have interrupted your little assassin date back there.” The rich smell of coffee suddenly hit Bellona’s nose like a warning bell, and she cursed softly under her breath, sharing a horrified look with Bucky beside her.

“What do you want, Nick,” she sighed, slumping back against the seat, not sensing any hostility from the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director who sat in the driver’s seat of the cab. Bucky, however, wasn’t as keen to let his guard down just yet, retaining his tensed fight-or-flight position. “Have you been following us?”

“No,” Fury replied tediously, “by sheer coincidence I managed to walk into the same cafè in the same city in the same country as two living ghost stories.”

“Don’t sound too happy about it,” Bellona’s response oozed with sarcasm, which Nick ignored per usual. “Now tell us the truth.”

“Agent Romanoff may have tipped me off to your potential whereabouts. But I do have better things to do than scamper around after you two,” his voice was taunting, “like mopping up HYDRA’s messes.”

Bellona leaned forward suspiciously as Bucky shifted uncomfortably beside her, they shared a dubious look, and Bellona lightly allowed her right hand to drop down to the seat, resting it calmly within reach of Bucky’s silver arm. “Is that what we are?” Bellona asked, keeping Nick’s attention while the bracelet on her wrist responded to Bucky’s metal touch, slipping off easily. “One of HYDRA’s messes?”

“Yes and no,” the tone of his voice had them hesitating curiously. “You two might be the most notorious tag team in existence, but if you’re sipping espresso in a Munich cafè at six in the morning, you’re clearly on the run, though you’re doing a shit job of it for a couple of highly-trained assassins.”

“How?” Bellona was incredibly offended. If Tony Stark, for all his technological capacities, and Steve Rogers with his unwavering determination hadn’t found the rogue pair, they had to be doing the whole on-the-run thing right.

“Speaking Russian in Germany in a cafè at six in the morning and looking ready to burn the place down the moment I set a foot over the damn threshold.”

There was an astonished silence in the backseat as Bucky and Bellona turned to stare at each other in utter bewilderment.

“We…. We were speaking Russian?” Bellona’s voice was slow and stunned.

“Right out of the goddamn Soviet Union.”

“ _ Shit _ .”

“Shit is right. I don’t suppose either of you knew the only other occupant of that cafè was a HYDRA agent?”  
“What?!” Bucky had finally found his voice, figuring the man driving had either forgotten it had been him who’d attempted to murder him, or didn’t care. He couldn't believe how badly they'd slipped up after going months without an incident. There hadn't been any incidents actually, it was like no one was even searching for them. They'd definitely become too lax, depending on Bellona’s technological advantages and false trails to keep them under the radar. And if an agent had tipped Fury off about something, then they had to pick up the slack — if it wasn’t already too late.

“Pierce’s death and the shitshow that happened in Washington definitely started the process of choking the life out of HYDRA, but the entire organization is too large, too extended, and too compartmentalized to have completely gone to hell when the helicarriers dropped into the Potomac,” Nick glanced into his rearview mirror to eye the assassins in the back seat. “Agent Romanoff dumped all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s and HYDRA’s classified secrets onto the web that same day. The entire world knows about the murder shenanigans you two have been in, and HYDRA invested too much in both of you to simply let you stroll across Europe sightseeing and going on coffee dates in hole-in-the-wall cafès.”

“But they haven’t found us,” Bellona retorted, processing everything Nick had just said.

“I’ll admit you’ve done a decent job of remaining off the grid,” Fury relented, and Bellona plastered a haughty smirk on her face. “Besides speaking Russian in the country where HYDRA was founded.”

“So HYDRA’s after us,” Bucky summed up what, in his opinion, Nick Fury had taken far too long to state.

“That much is obvious.”

“Did you steal a cab just to tell us that?” Bellona’s voice grew skeptical, she didn’t understand why Nick even cared, after all, this was the Winter Soldier, who had almost murdered him, and Bellona Drager, whom he’d held a mutual dislike for since the Avengers snatched her from the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.

“It’s not stolen, I bought it. You’d be surprised how much you can find out by listening to the conversations of your passengers — people don’t think cab drivers have ears.” He drew the car to a stop at a light and turned back to look at them, both were watching him with identical expressions of puzzled suspicion. “But no, that’s not the only reason.” The light turned and he pressed the gas again. “See that SUV behind us? The fourth person in that cafè earlier. He’s not only interested in real estate prices.”

Neither of the passengers turned around to confirm if this was the truth.

“We know,” Bellona informed Nick coolly, “why do you think we’re still here? I’d rather deal with a man with one eye than with any HYDRA agent.”

“It’s not this one you have to worry about. He’s recon; gathering intel. What you should be worried about is the gang of thugs awaiting you at the airport.”

Next to her, Bucky tensed, sucking in a low breath. Bellona tapped his metal arm lightly with a forefinger before reaching across with her other hand and holding it out to him. Knowing what she wanted, he unclasped her other bracelet, tucking it into his jacket pocket along with the other.

“How do you know that?” Bucky demanded, still unsure whether or not to trust Nick Fury.

“I’ve been tracking HYDRA’s factions throughout Europe. HYDRA’s factions throughout Europe have been tracking you two. Our paths were bound to cross eventually. Lucky for you, it was like this.”

Bellona made a frustrated noise, knowing Fury had something up his sleeve and still wasn’t spilling. “But what do you  _ want _ ?”

Fury flicked a glance at them in his rearview mirror, a slight smile creeping around his lips, as though they were old buddies having their ten year reunion despite all of them having been in Washington D.C. only a few months ago. “Up for a mission?”

“What?!” Bellona snapped in shock as Bucky simultaneously growled, “no!”

“Relax,” Fury’s voice hadn’t changed despite their anger. “There’s a quid pro quo to all this.” 

“Oh, I’m  _ sure _ there is-”

“Shut your mouth for two damn seconds and listen, Drager. You’re lucky your bite is worse than your bark or someone would have shot you a long time ago. Now, the moment you spotted me back there, you immediately decided to leave the country, didn’t you? I hope you haven’t already picked where your next vacation will be, because the HYDRA agent who’s currently tailgating my ass heard every word.”

“How?” Bellona’s voice rose in panic. “I wasn’t speaking loudly, and it was in Russian — as you claimed.”

“Language and sound barriers are things that are no longer barriers,” Fury was decidedly calm despite having his back to the two assassins, one of whom was on the verge of debating whether or not he ought to attempt to kill the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director again. “And I like my coffee black.”

“Okay,” Bellona muttered after an uncomfortable silence that had Bucky clutching her right hand in his metal left to prevent both of them from doing anything rash. “So what’s the quid pro quo?”


	43. July 1, 2014

“I can't believe we agreed to this,” Bucky Barnes murmured in her ear as Nick Fury pulled the car into a crowded parking lot just outside the Munich airport terminals. 

“Neither can I,” Bellona Drager grumbled back, “but HYDRA found us and there’s no going back, even if we ditched right here right now.”

Bucky’s eyes met hers and his next question welled up within them.  _ Can we trust him _ ?

She tore her gaze from him and looked to the front of the cab where Fury was strategically selecting a parking spot. HYDRA’s former asset watched her closely; her eyes narrowed while she scrutinized the man who was once director of S.H.I.E.L.D., her pupils dilating briefly as though allowing her to see more than just their banal surroundings, before returning to their former size. When she glanced back at him, her confident blue eyes gave him his answer.

“I’m willing to bet my other eye that the black van parked three rows ahead has your welcome party in it,” Nick announced, bringing the assassins’ nonverbal conversation to an end. The pair needed only a brief look at the van to confirm Fury’s guess. “Just near where the tailgating asshole so cleverly parked his SUV.”

“If this is some dirty S.H.I.E.L.D. trick, I will claw out your other eye with my bare hand,” Bellona’s sugary tone of voice did nothing to mitigate the brutal threat.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t exist anymore, you would know that,” Fury turned completely around and shot her a stony look with the threatened single eye. “I’m operating alone, and I’ve already explained how we both will benefit from this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellona shrugged his words off, an arrogant grin sprouting on her face as she meekly glanced at Bucky beside her, who had already loaded a fresh round of ammo into the handgun he normally kept hidden, cocked it, and swiftly hid it in an inner pocket of his jacket. He met her eyes and nodded determinedly, allowing a slight grin to curl his lips upwards; something about them prepping for a fight felt so second-nature it was already igniting thrills of adrenaline to send their hearts pounding in sync as their eyes clicked together.

“Is gazing into each other’s eyes going to help get this done any quicker?”

They turned and shot twin murder glares at Nick Fury.

“Five minutes,” Bellona said auspiciously before she tugged on the car door’s handle and smoothly hopped out of the cab. Bucky did the same on the other side. The doors were slammed shut in unison as the pair slowly began walking towards the airport, which was also towards the now innocent-looking van, its windows too dark to allow a glimpse into its interior despite the bright summer sun shining overhead.

“How many do you think?” Bellona asked casually, as though they weren’t planning on taking out multiple HYDRA agents within seconds.

“A dozen, at least,” Bucky replied in the same light tone, though his eyes were roving around the parking lot, identifying which cars parked where would serve as potential hindrances or shields once bullets began to fly. “Outnumbering your opponent is always a good strategy.”

“Yeah, but a dozen? That’s it? I thought our legend preceded us; I hope it’s at least two dozen.”

“Don’t,” Bucky told her, “it won’t be as messy.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Do it as quickly and cleanly as possible, then get the hell out of here.”

Fury had been right about the van; once the pair was within fifteen feet of it, the doors burst open and roughly a dozen HYDRA thugs poured out, all clad in military protective gear, clutching loaded weapons, and barking orders at each other.

The action began immediately. Bucky dove behind the nearest car, a dark gray Mercedes sedan, grabbing Bellona’s hand and dragging her after him — she let out a scream for theatrical effect as they crouched behind the vehicle; they had to act surprised, playing the role of the hunted when they were actually the hunters. Bullets meanwhile, peppered the other side of the car, denting the steel doors but none shattered the Mercedes’ glass windows. 

“Low shots,” Bellona murmured upon realizing this, her eyes widening with understanding.

“They’re not shooting to kill,” Bucky finished, sharing a brief look with her before gripping the underside of the Mercedes with both his hands. “Give me a kick.” At his order, Bellona flashed a palm out at the same time Bucky heaved, lifting the vehicle upwards, his metal arm whirring as its panels shifted in response to the weight of car, that suddenly became much lighter when Bellona’s manipulation of both the air molecules around it and the steel molecules of the car itself made it seem weightless. The combined energy and sheer muscle strength sent the car flying towards the group of HYDRA cronies. Not expecting a car to be  _ thrown  _ at them, several of them were hit directly by it, unable to move in time, they went down with screams of horror as several hundred pounds of steel landed on them. Those who were lucky scattered, streaking away from the black van and the smashed Mercedes. Only seven remained, and the pair charged them; moving at speeds only super-soldiers could command, Bucky sniped down three before any of them could take a shot towards the former Winter Soldier and his accomplice. Bellona, meanwhile had snatched the air from the lungs of one, who dropped immediately, lit another on fire (because she felt like being a bit more dramatic than usual with Nick Fury watching the scene), who let his weapon clatter to the ground as he ran away shrieking. Swerving around the barrage of bullets that came her way, she whipped out one of the electrical chips Natasha Romanoff was fond of using from the belt under her jacket and flung it towards the next HYDRA agent who was taken down with a burst of electricity spasming over his body, before Bucky knocked out the last with a merciless punch from his metal arm. 

“That was definitely less than five minutes,” Bellona commented as they paused to stare around at the results of the altercation. Broken glass, abandoned weapons, and motionless bodies were strewn around the two cars, the van did not boast a single scratch, the Mercedes however, was an entirely different story, looking like it had been driven through a warzone, picked up by a tornado, and dropped a hundred miles away on solid concrete — landing upside down.

“We’re not done yet,” Bucky reminded her, turning away from the debris and bodies and looking towards where the black Volkswagen SUV had parked, a few spots adjacent from the van, the driver being the man from the cafè earlier who had followed them. “Bulletproof glass, extra internal locking mechanisms, military-grade steel frame.”

“It’s a cage.”

“Exactly,” Bucky’s voice was low, “get the tires.”

Within seconds of the command there was a loud hissing noise as the air began escaping the Volkswagen’s tires, sending the SUV sinking towards the pavement as though it would be swallowed by the black asphalt. They could see the sole figure in the driver’s seat, one hand clenching the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were stark white, almost as pale as his face. His jaw was trembling and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath as he stared in sheer terror at the former Winter Soldier and the smirking girl as his side. 

“Can I get him?” Bellona crowed and when Bucky nodded she flew forwards to the driver’s door and reached a hand out to wrench it open with a gloating confidence, ready to knock the man unconscious. 

Both ex-HYDRA assassins however, soon realized her confidence was in fact cockiness and it was to her immediate detriment. Neither had expected the man in the driver’s seat to ram the door open before Bellona could, causing her to stumble back in unexpected shock which further increased when two more heavily armed agents clad in body armor burst out after the man in the suit who had a gun in his hands almost instantly, the others having been waiting in the back of the Volkswagen, hidden behind its darkened windows.

“Bells, wait-” the words weren’t out of his mouth before Bellona Drager heard three loud popping noises, but to Bucky Barnes it sounded like a drumroll of explosions as the HYDRA men pulled the triggers on the guns they clutched, each aimed at the elf-sized girl before them. 

Bucky returned the fire immediately. One shot and the man in the suit who had followed them was dead, a gaping bullet hole through his head. Bellona, however, wasn’t about to go down without a fight. As pain exploded about the exposed skin on her neck and her head grew heavier than lead, she managed a willowy flick of her wrist and the two other HYDRA agents were on their knees, choking and rasping for breath, their weapons clattering away as their hands flew up to scrabble frantically at their necks.

Bellona was crumbling down to the hot asphalt of the parking lot when Bucky seized the heads of both HYDRA thugs still alive and put them out of their misery with a vengeful twist of his hands. Then he was at her side, kneeling beside her and surveying the extent of her injuries. Her eyes were threatening to roll back into her head before her eyelids flickered shut and her muscles ceased quivering; he reached forward with his metal hand and plucked out the three tranquilizer darts that had penetrated the vulnerable skin of her neck. She had entered a deep unconscious state when he picked her up, leapt the distance between the SUV and the van in two bounds, hopping over the corpses of the HYDRA agents, and quickly placed her into the passenger seat of the now empty van.

“You were supposed to take him alive.” Bucky turned away from securing Bellona to find Nick Fury peering out of the driver’s side window of the cab he had rolled towards the scene once the violence had ended. His eyes were on the body of the HYDRA agent in the suit who had eavesdropped on and then followed the pair of assassins from the cafè. Fury’s part of the quid pro quo had been they deliver the agent to him for interrogation purposes into where other HYDRA hotspots were growing, while Fury would ensure the agent’s silence concerning everything he may have overheard in the cafè earlier, while also promising to throw Agent Romanoff, who was apparently also searching for the pair, off their scent. 

“She wasn’t supposed to get shot,” Bucky’s voice was completely void of emotion as he shot Fury an accusing look.

“They were only tranquilizing guns.”

“They shot her with three.”

“She’ll live, soldier. Now where do you intend to go from here?”

“Away. From HYDRA. From you.”

“How do you know that I’m not aware of where you’re planning to go?”

Bucky had swung around the front of the van and pulled the driver’s side door open with so much force it was almost ripped off its hinges. Before hopping into the driver’s seat, he shot Nick Fury a cold look, and nodded down to the dead HYDRA agent who was leaking blood over the blistering tar of the parking lot. “Dead men don’t speak.”

“Soldier,” the gravity of Fury’s tone made Bucky pause before slamming the door of the black van shut. “Do you know the extent of destruction HYDRA could unleash upon this earth if they get their tentacles on Bellona Drager again? It would make your long list of political assassinations look like monkeys throwing shit.”

Something flashed in the hardened depths of his eyes before they solidified into chilled blue ice. He inclined his head in the slightest, “I know.”

 


	44. July 1, 2014

Bellona Drager rolled into consciousness with a low groan. 

“ _ H-hell _ ?” Was the first word she coughed through her teeth as she struggled to raise her sandpaper eyelids over her watering eyes. Whatever sedative they’d used on her had been unusually overpowering, and then three times so again because of the direct shots taken from each HYDRA agent’s gun. She blearily moved her fuzzy vision to the left and spotted Bucky Barnes in the driver’s seat of the van she had somehow ended up in, soaring it down the highway at over one hundred miles an hour. His hands were clenching the steering wheel so tightly, she was sure it would be left dented and mangled from his metal grip.

“ _ Wha-what _ ?” Was all she could blurt out, wanting an explanation as to what was going on and failing to realize that she had automatically reverted back to speaking Russian to the former Winter Soldier.

Bucky Barnes shot her an inquisitive glance at her usage of the Cyrillic language, but responded in English nonetheless. “You got shot by three tranquilizer guns. All the HYDRA agents are dead, including the one Fury wanted to interrogate. I stole their car. We’re an hour from the French border.” His voice was calculating and statistical, firing off facts as though to utter an opinion would be a treasonous act.

She was quiet as she absorbed this, knowing that the van was probably traceable, backtracking and ditching it in France would throw HYDRA off the scent. “....Fury?”

“Is probably mad about it all but oh well. There’s no way he can track us.”

“.... _ Good… _ .” her brain didn’t seem to want to form words, and when it did, they were in a monotonous Russian mutter.

“Go back to sleep,” Bucky ordered her, his eyes remaining focused on the highway before him. Not a single car was in sight. “You need to get whatever they shot you with out of your system.”

Bellona made some weak grumbling noises of protest while shaking her head as though trying to usher out the fog paralyzing her mind. She didn’t comply until he tore his eyes away from the road and glanced a look her way. She met his blazing blue eyes and was surprised to find them whirling with unidentifiable emotions and a vast internal conflict, both of which were frosted with unwavering determination.

 

  
********************************************  
  


 

“We’re in France.” A slight shaking of her shoulders and the muttered words caused Bellona to jerk her eyelids open and blink in bewilderment. She was still in the passenger seat of the black HYDRA van, the seatbelt cutting into her ribs and the old bullet wound on her hip. Bucky had parked the car and had exited to open the passenger door; he was standing before her, his face dappled by the long shadows of the growing twilight.

“ _ Where _ ?” She mumbled, completely disoriented as Bucky agily reached over and clicked her seatbelt off. 

“Near an airport. We’re getting rid of the car,” he said in a low voice, holding up a metal hand for her to grasp. She shakily reached out and grabbed it, its plates shifting as he supported her weight to allow her to clumsily pull herself out of the seat and onto the ground. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” she groaned as her feet hit the dirt and grass and she stumbled forwards, a wave of vertigo washing over her from the sudden motion. Bucky caught her immediately, before she could collapse downwards, picking her up like a limp rag doll and placing her back into the passenger seat of the van.

“Actually, stay here,” he told her, snatching up the seatbelt and snapping it back into place over her before she could argue with him. “And don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“ _ But- _ ”

“ _ Shut up _ ,” he told her, also in Russian this time, before closing the passenger door, briefly surveying the woods immediately surrounding the parked vehicle before hurrying off at a quick-paced walk through the trees and towards the sounds of roaring engines. She could only watch him in confusion as her mind churned to comprehend what was going on around her. The only thing allowing her to keep her eyes open and staring at the trees where Bucky had vanished was the kernel of red-hot anger that had overcome her as a result of the effects of the tranquilizers. Why they were so damn effective pissed her off beyond rationality. She wanted to choke the life out of the HYDRA agents who’d shot her, but she had the notion that Bucky had already taken care of that. 

It was a short, tense few minutes before a scarlet Renault Clio IV rolled through the trees and pulled to a stop beside the van. Bucky hopped out of the hotwired car and opened the passenger door to find Bellona scowling up at him.

“ _ Red _ ,” she mumbled through the after effects of the sedative.

“There was like a hundred of the same car in the lot,” he explained as he reached across her to unfasten the seatbelt again before picking her up in one smooth motion to transport her from the passenger seat of the van to the passenger seat of the French car.

“ _ Red — attract — attention _ ….” she whined in Russian as he placed her onto the seat of the stolen car. She groaned and snapped her eyes shut as her head came into contact with the back of the seat, sending drills of pain through her vulnerable brain. 

“Bells,” her eyes flew open to find Bucky snapping his fingers in her face. “Focus. Can you take a twenty-four hour car trip?”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” she muttered, about to nod her head before thinking better of it. “ _ Wha…. you…. doing _ ?” He’d grabbed the seatbelt of the Renault and leaned over her to secure it in place with a swift click; his hair flicking so close to her brought his musky scent straight to her brain, making it go haywire as she tried to focus on him.

“Making sure you don’t do anything stupid,” he responded, still in English, then taking hold of her chin with his metal hand, he tilted her head up towards him and glanced into her eyes the way one might do to determine someone’s sobriety level. “How do you feel?”

Bucky wasn’t pleased with the high-pitched giggle he received as an answer, followed by several nonsensical, slurred Russian syllables.

“ _ Look, Bells _ ,” her eyes threatened to roll away from his so he allowed his metal fingers to stray across her jawbone to the pressure points on either side of her mandible, where he applied a light pressure against her bare skin. Her eyes snapped back to his and she grew still, watching him with passivity despite the fact he could easily crush her windpipe or break her jaw if he chose to increase the pressure being exerted by his metal hand. He abandoned their native English, seeing as she was apparently unable to speak it at the moment. “ _ We need to get rid of all traces of us taking another car out of here, else HYDRA will come, see the tracks, and know we didn’t take a plane. It’ll throw them off further if they think we flew out, like we did in Ohio _ .” He paused, watching the flickers in her eyes to see if she was comprehending what he was saying. When he was satisfied she understood, he continued, gesturing up the gunmetal gray sky above them. “ _ Can you make it rain _ ?”

He held his breath, unleashing his grip on her, he watched her eyes drift upwards, through the windshield and to the sky above them. He thought his fear that the sedative would be too powerful was confirmed when she glanced back at him with dejected eyes, until she raised a shaky hand towards her braid, and he knew ice could work just as well to ensure the Renault’s tracks would be undetected. 

The Renault Clio IV cruised away from the abandoned black HYDRA van with chilling sheets of ice spreading out with cracking speed behind it, coating the grass and dirt like a thick white blanket that began melting almost immediately, turning the ground into undecipherable mud. This went on until the Renault reached a paved road, which it swung onto and consequently sped away.

Bellona was sluggishly braiding her hair up when Bucky glanced over at her after a few moments of speeding down the French highway. The dark circles under her eyes were growing, she looked haggard and exhausted, her blue eyes were bloodshot, making her cheekbones appear gaunt and hollow, and the pale scar on her throat was ashen. He regretted asking her to cover the Renault’s tracks after seeing the effect it had on her; even though using the ice entwined in her hair utilized minimal energy compared to what else she could do, she should have focused her energy on combatting the sedative evidently still coursing through her system.

“I don’t know what the hell they shot you with,” Bucky murmured in English after a minute of silence, “but it's definitely a new drug. You're practically helpless.” 

A low moan loaded with weariness agreed with him, along with more Russian gibberish that seemed to have some meaning to her, but was unintelligible to him.

Bucky shot another look her way, her eyelids were fluttering over her eyes and her head nodding downwards, so he switched languages. “ _ What?” _

“ _ Overdose _ ,” she managed to choke out, letting her eyes close with a groan as she slumped backwards into the seat.

“ _ Sleep _ ,” Bucky ordered her in Russian again, but she had already complied with this before the word was out of his mouth, for which he was grateful — she wouldn't hear the anxious note of worry in his voice.


	45. July 2, 2014

Bellona awoke, feeling groggy, with a pounding migraine, and no concept of how much time had passed. Everything was dark, the car’s motion a constant hum around her as it sped down the long international road, a few stars could be glimpsed just overhead through the windshield, above the outline of soaring mountain peaks. She rolled her eyes to her left and spotted the sharp lines of Bucky’s figure in the driver’s seat, looking like he hadn't moved since first stepping on the gas. His muscles were tense but his face was blank, completely void of expression. Sensing her eyes on him he glanced over and studied her briefly. 

“How do you feel?”

“ _ Hell _ ,” was her only answer.

“Speak English, Bells. No Russian.”

She stared at him for a long moment as though trying to comprehend exactly what he was saying. Blinking slowly for a bit, she mumbled under her breath before switching languages. “How long….” The Anglo-Saxon syllables sounded gritty on her tongue, while her head felt fit to burst any moment. Bucky, however, understood perfectly.

“You slept for six hours,” he seemed annoyed at this fact. “I got you coffee.”

“Whaaa-!” The wavering interjection told him everything that her muddled brain couldn't formulate into words: she was mad he stopped for coffee and didn't wake her immediately. Chuckling in spite of her current state, he reached down to the cup holders between the seats and handed the waiting coffee to her. She took it with shaky hands and raised it to her parched mouth, allowing the warm liquid to trickle over her lips and down her throat, bringing with it the comforting feeling of caffeine that had no actual effect on her super-soldier serum enhanced brain. She just liked to think it did. And thinking it did made it so.

“Hot….” She muttered irritably. 

“They don't really have  _ iced  _ coffee in Europe, Bells. There's like three shots of espresso in that though, so you can pretend it helps.”

“Stupid,” Bellona grunted, taking another sip of it anyways before draining half the cup as quickly as she could. “Where are we?”

“Just like that and your mouth’s back?” Bucky snorted, “maybe I shouldn't have gotten you that.”

“Shut up,” she growled, massaging her aching temple with her free hand and downing more of the coffee. 

“We’re almost out of Germany,” Bucky informed her swiftly. “Once we’re out we’re stopping and getting you food.”

“Good,” she sighed, dropping the empty cup back into the cupholder and resting her head back against the seat. “Where we goin’?”

“Not Italy.”

“I wanted to see the David.”

“I wanted to not have to deal with HYDRA or S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“We didn’t.”

“What was that mess back there then?”

“....improvising….”

“If you say the word improvising to describe another situation, I will never let you have coffee again.”

“That’s mean….” She grumbled, lapsing into silence for a long moment as she gazed up through the windshield at the stars, seemingly fascinated by the tiny points of light in the sky. “Are they…. Real?”

“What?”

“The stars…. Are they real?”

Bucky hesitated before answering her, sensing she was on the brink of an existential crisis, that or she was still completely loopy from the tranquilizer. “I don’t know,” he finally said, “I guess they gotta be real.”

“Thor fell from the sky,” she mused, her voice sounding eerily dreamy. “He had to come from…. Somewhere…. There’s somewhere…. There….”

“I think you should go back to sleep, Bells.”

“You think… _. _ ” She repeated the phrase like it was some sort of useful new vocabulary word, now distracted away from her stargazing, her eyes flew downwards to stare at him. “You think?”

“Yeah….”

“You don’t order…. You think….”

“Bells.”

“ _ Wint- _ Bucky….”

“Go to sleep.”

“You’ve been in cryo, you know what it’s like to ‘sleep’ for years…. I don’t wanna sleep…. Not if I don’t gotta….”

“Then stay awake and look at the stars some more. I gotta get us out of Germany.”

“Okay….”


	46. August 23, 1980

“Do you think they’re real?”

“What?”

“The stars.”

Ten-year-old Tony Stark snorted loudly at the small girl’s question. He and six-year-old Bellona Drager were sprawled out on lounge chairs on the back lawn of James Drager’s summer home in central New Hampshire. The glowing coals of a fire crackled occasionally in the pit before them, having been put out recently to allow the children a chance to gaze up into the darkened night sky and stare, captivated, at the vast immensity of the galaxies and constellations that stretched across the heavens. The mountain air was cool despite the earlier warmth of the day; somewhere a frog croaked on the edges of the lake the house resided on, and the low chatter of the pair’s parents could just be heard over the encircling silence that wrapped around the lake like thick gauze.

“They’re real, Bella,” he responded, his eyes darting about, trying to recognize a constellation other than the Big Dipper. “It’s science. They’re balls of gas, floating in space. Like the sun. The sun’s a star, you know.”

“It’s different than these ones,” her voice was soft, awed by the bespeckled roof of the world. 

“Well it’s a lot closer than these ones. And all of them have their own planets circling them.”

“Like earth?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe some of them have planets that are just circles of rock in space with no water on them. Or with weird types of aliens.”

“What’s that really bright one over there?” She lifted a skinny finger up and pointed in the vague direction of one star amongst the millions. “Does it have a name?”

“That’s not a star,” Tony informed the younger girl, having made note of it a few minutes ago. “That's a planet. Probably Mars, because it’s kinda red.”

“Mars?” She seemed terribly puzzled in the way only children could be. “Mommy says Mars was a god. She says his temple in Rome is her favorite, she says it was built because the emperor that came after… um... Caesar… beat the people who killed Caesar in battle. It has a funny name, the temple. Mars… then something with a ‘u’....”

“Ultor. Mars Ultor,” Tony added his input with a slight sigh. “It means the Avenger.”

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“I was stuck in the same room as my parents when your mom was telling them all her stories from being in Rome last month. I picked up on some of the really boring things they were saying because I had nothing else to do until dad kicked me out of the room.”

“Oh…. Well why’d they name a star after a god?”

“It’s not a star, it’s a planet. And they named a lot of the planets after Roman gods. Like Jupiter and Pluto. Probably because they have cool names.”

A silence fell between the two as they continued gazing up, their eyes traveling the millions of lightyears between the stars and planets that decorated the night sky like twinkling flecks of genius on a coal black scratchboard.

“It looks like a star.”

“What does?” Tony shot a glance over at the little girl on the chair beside him. In the absence of light, her hair was as dark as the sky above them, and her blue eyes gazing at the brilliant abstract painting above seemed to reflect the very stars they studied so assiduously.

“Mars,” she answered, turning to look back at him. “Are you sure it’s not a star?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “it’s a planet. It’s really close to Earth.”

“But it looks like all the rest.”

“It’s brighter. And it’s red. It’s different, you can tell.”

“Why’s it red?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, growing somewhat annoyed; he loved to answer her questions, but only when they were about something he knew. The ten year old hadn’t developed such an affinity for astronomy as he had for cars. “Maybe because that’s what color the planet is.”

“Do you think people live on it?”

“Not Mars. Maybe on other planets around the other stars.”

“Tony?”

“Yeah, Bella?”

“Why are there planets like Mars if no one lives on them? What do they do?”

“Just… spin, I suppose.”

“But there’s somewhere else up there, right?”

“I guess.”

“With someone else too?”

“Yeah, Bella, there’s gotta be….”


	47. July 3, 2014

 

 

“Are you ever gonna run out of money?” Bucky Barnes asked an uncharacteristically quiet Bellona Drager as he watched her down her fourth coffee; he’d long ago lost track of their tab and she never seemed to care how much money she blew on food and caffeine. The pair was sitting at one of the umbrella-covered tables outside a touristy cafè in some small mountain valley town in the middle of Austria, having driven the entire day prior to get there; only stopping because the hotwired French car ran out of gas, and Bellona began whining her hunger once they were out of Germany — practically the only words she’d spoken to him since the sun rose and the stars disappeared.

“No,” she grunted, adding more sugar to her half-emptied cup. “I told you, I’m rich. Totally loaded. That's why I'm not speaking to you — because we could have been drinking vintage Prosecco in the gondolas of Venice, but you didn’t want to go to Italy. So now we’re sitting drinking mediocre Mazagran in middle-of-nowhere, country of Adolf Hitler’s birth.”

“We’re not staying here,” he assured her, ignoring her churlish remark as his eyes flicked about the street to survey their surroundings. The town was swarming with tourists of every nationality, come to see the picturesque mountain views and experience the rural Austrian culture; the pair of fugitives blended into the crowd seamlessly. 

“You’re sure you got those HYDRA agents right?” She asked him in a low murmur; having been essentially helpless for over two days had instilled a simmering fury in Bellona at the organization. After every cup of coffee she’d finished, she asked him the same question, demanding to know the fates of those who’d shot her.

“Yes, Bells, I did,” he sighed, his eyes darting back to her anxious blue ones that peered at him desperately over her glass of sweetened coffee. Her constant flipping between glaring daggers at him and gazing at him like he was a star that possessed prophetic powers was giving him a pounding migraine. “Now stop mentioning it out loud.”

“I’m just mad,” she grumbled, reverting her eyes to stare into the depths of her now-empty glass. “Everything was going so well until they whipped out the tranquilizer guns.”

“You were too confident, you weren’t thinking-”

“You had literally given me the order-”

“I know. I know I did. I should have realized.”

“I can’t believe we fucked up that bad. With everything: the agent in the cafè, then Fury, then that shitshow….”

“That’s why we’re here, and that’s why we’re leaving now.” Bucky beckoned to her as he casually rose from his chair; Bellona, after tossing enough and more Euro onto the table, followed him away from the bustling outside of the cafè and down the street, the pair weaving in and out of rambling tourists with experienced grace.

“Can you get a car to start?” Bucky asked her in a low voice as they continued down the street, walking at a relaxed pace to fit in with the crowds. “We’re not going back for the Renault.”

“Yeah, easy now that I don’t have gallons of sedative inundating my cells,” she announced, her voice dull and somewhat sarcastic.

Bucky ignored her spiteful tone. “Good, that’s what we’re doing.”

“Then where are we going?”

“Another country.”

“Which one?”

“Last time we decided out loud where we were gonna go-”

“Okay, okay. But they might not use Euro, and in that case I’ll have to make an exchange somewhere that could possibly be traced.”

“So we’ll do that before we leave here.”

“Bucky,” Bellona sighed, slowing her pace slightly, forcing him to pause and look back at her questioningly. She was biting her lower lip, almost nervously, as she glanced up at him with swirling azure eyes. “Um…. I’m getting tired…. of running like this….”

His eyebrows furrowed as though what she had just admitted was unfathomable to him. “Bells…. That’s the point of being off the grid — you run.”

“But why are we running when we can literally just disappear?”

“We did,” he replied, reaching forward and taking her hand in his gloved metal one to lead her onwards. “That’s what you do when you fall off the map, you disappear.”

“No,” Bellona rolled her eyes; peeling his fingers away from hers, she placed his hand on her wrist instead, over the silver bracelet that lay there. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively and she gave him a sharp look, so he tugged her bracelet off. Once it had slipped over her wrist, she snatched his hand back up with hers and began to rhythmically tap her thumb against the back of his. “I mean —  _ literally. _ ” At her words, Bucky felt the familiar buzz of energy encircling them as there was a slight shift in the very air molecules around them.

“Air ward,” he murmured softly, knowing that the two of them were now entirely undetectable by anyone or anything else.

“I can maintain them for long periods of time too,” she added as they continued walking, invisible, down the street, tourists brushing past them, completely unawares.

Bucky shot a hard glare down at her, holding her gaze with his until he knew she wanted to look away but couldn’t because the little click in the back of their minds had sounded and now she was obediently awaiting his orders. Just like HYDRA had programmed her. “Bells, you haven’t slept normally — not under the influence of sedatives — in over seventy-two hours. Maybe after you’ll be able to maintain a high-energy ward but not right now.”

Her annoyed scowl told him that she knew he was right but was too stubborn to admit it.

“Let’s get out of Austria, then reconsider our options,” he told her, leading her around the corner onto a small side street, where they would have their pick of Austrian cars.

“But  _ where  _ are we going?” She supplicated before pulling the air ward down.

“I want at least another country in between us, and somewhere we know the language.”

“So…. Romania?”


	48. August 30, 2014

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. It was what she would call “improvising”; that is, carrying out his orders or adding onto the predetermined plan in such a way that made his skin crawl and a knot to form in the pit of his stomach which made him want to savagely punch something. He’d never felt like that while they were performing HYDRA’s nefarious plans. But then again, as she had furiously stated to him a few months ago, they were never in such a situation as they were in now when they were HYDRA’s pawns. They'd always had the upper hand, but now the cards were in the world’s favor, and so he tried to use this argument to justify the scene he was watching unfold before him.

Bucky Barnes was sitting at a small sticky table outside an upscale urban cafè, staring past the few tables packed with German tourists to where Bellona Drager openly flirted with the highly-intoxicated landlord of an apartment complex in Bucharest, Romania.

He had no idea how she'd even found the guy. She'd searched online or something. He didn't really understand how that worked, all he cared about was that no one would be able to trace it, which she assured him no one would. Something about Stark’s Secure Server, although if Stark was looking for her, he wasn't exactly sure how secure it was. She’d discovered that the guy owned multiple apartment complexes, each of which were “totally off the grid already” according to Bells, and would be “even more off the grid once she put an air ward around it.” He reminded her that she couldn't maintain an air ward forever if she didn't sleep, to which she simply scowled and asked if she could secure it. Not wanting to refuse her because of the guilt that still plagued him from the tranquilizing incident in Munich, he had constructed the plan, with her generous and almost overbearing input, but didn't realize it would turn out this way. Yeah, he agreed to just let her do all the talking, since she was better at it, but he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that they were not working in a controlled bubble like they had for HYDRA, and in the world of the twenty-first century there was a multitude of factors he had not foreseen; all of which had culminated to the present, which contained Bucky Barnes seething quietly a few tables away outside the bustling cafè in the middle of Bucharest and not intervening while the guy blatantly eye-fucked Bellona Drager.

“So why’s a girl like you looking for an apartment like this?” Bucky, naturally, had positioned himself so he could hear every word of the conversation between the two. “Got a boyfriend you don’t want your family finding out about? Need someplace to crash with him? Eloped?”

Her laugh was high-pitched and incredibly fake; to Bucky it was obvious, but as he studied the other man with narrowed eyes it was evident he thought every word out of Bellona’s mouth was coated in gold and honey. That or he was too busy thinking of… other things.

“Oh, no, nothing like that, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she giggled, frivolously curling her long braid around her fingers. “Just looking for some extra space for me and a… friend to use while we’re in the city.”

“Your friend as hot as you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Right. Well you can have the apartment, hell, I’ll give you the whole damn building if I can take you out some time. There’s a place down the street-”

“That won’t be necessary,” she purred, flicking her braid over her shoulder in a luxurious movement that made Bucky wring his gloved metal hand in distress as he watched the man gaze at her in greedy fascination.

“Ya know, I’ve plenty of room in my own place if you’d like, just you though, not your ugly friend.”

“Hmm,” she leaned back in her chair and tilted her head as though seriously debating his drunken offer. “Maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You should definitely do that — consider it. Just had the place renovated; flat screen T.V.’s in every room, three full baths, king-sized bed…. And that army jacket you’re wearing would look even better on the floor of my-”

“Did you bring the key to the apartment?” Bucky felt his heart rate he hadn’t even noticed spike decrease at her interjecting question. He’d forced his right hand, instead of his metal left, to clutch furiously at the edges of the small table before him to avoid damaging it and arousing suspicion. He didn’t even know the jerk’s name (Bells had left that bit of information out), yet Bucky could smell the alcohol from where he was sitting a bit away from them, though he had the feeling the punk would have acted the same way even without being totally inebriated. On top of that, what was playing out before him was giving him murky gray flashbacks of a similar scenario that must have occurred at some point before the war: in a bar that smelled of heavy perfume and sweet smoke, full of men with thick cigars and women with red lipstick. And he was paralyzed by both the onslaught of hazy memories and the fact that Bells would be absolutely apoplectic if he stormed over and compromised the plan.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I did, I brought it,” the man fumbled about his pocket for a moment before producing a glinting key on a silver key ring, which he handed across the table to Bellona. Bucky observed he made every effort to touch her hand while giving it over. It made no logical sense to him why the man was so ridiculously smitten with her, and it made even less sense why watching them interact appalled him to the point of feeling physically ill.

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name,” the man had jumped to attention as Bellona had thanked him and made as though she was about to leave. Dropping back into the seat, the smile she gave him put the luminescence of her eyes to shame, and, as Bucky noted with annoyance, sent the man into a ludicrous stupor — he was practically drooling as he gawked at her.

He couldn’t take it anymore. It was like watching someone chop off his right arm and try to sew it onto themselves to use for their own purposes, like someone had stolen his property, something that was irrevocably  _ his _ ; but it hadn’t even been taken without his knowing, as he had agreed to this, albeit, not knowing Bells was going to act the way she was or that the man would be some alcoholic little cretin. Dropping a few Romanian  _ lei  _ onto the sticky surface and forgetting about his half full coffee, he released his grip from the metal edge of the table and stood, snatching a glimpse of the insane amount of Romanian bills that Bellona slipped into the man’s hand with a wink and a low-pitched whisper telling him that her name was inessential information. He tore his gaze away from the man’s face, which had an expression of immense awe and unadulterated lust etched across it, and stalked away from the cafè, slipping through the crowds of people milling about and across the street, where he could lean against the pole bearing the street’s name on the corner just across from the cafè. His head was down and covered with his usual cap, but his eyes tracked the movements of the short, dark-haired girl as she, at last, began to stroll — far too casually in his opinion — away from the man and towards where he stood.

She didn’t look at him when she passed by, something that would have pissed him off had he not been busy ensuring that no one was following her. After confirming no one was, he pushed off from the pole and hurriedly snaked his way through the crowded street to the small side-alley she had turned onto.

Bucky found her leaning against the brick wall of the restaurant that was on one side of the cut-through alley, jangling the key around her fingers and grinning at him.

“Got it,” Bells sang merrily, dangling the silver key out to him. He silently reached out and clenched his gloved metal fingers around it, tucking it away into his pocket before he snatched her hand up with his and began leading her through the alley.

“I know right, I did it so easily there’s no need to tell me good job,” her tone was utterly sarcastic as she struggled to keep pace; he was practically dragging her along with him. 

“You did it again,” he finally muttered, his voice void of emotion.

“Did what?”

“Improvised.” He spat the word because he didn’t know what else to call the situation that gave him the feeling of being violated.

“Um, what? How?” She demanded, entirely offended by his cold remark. “You were fine with me doing the talking and securing the apartment. That’s what I did. All you had to do was sit there. How did I ‘improvise’? What does that even mean?”

“I didn’t know he was going to be drunk.”

“Neither did I.”

“I didn’t know you were going to humor him.”

“What? Humor him? I was just playing the situation — didn’t you see how stupid he was? He was like in love with me or something, he literally gave me the apartment for free.”

“He wasn't in love with you. Now what does he want in return?”

“Nothing. I just gave him the equivalent of over one thousand U.S. dollars. He doesn’t want anything — not even my name.”

“He seemed pretty interested in other things.”

“Okay…. So?”

Bucky was silent on this because he didn’t know how to answer. Hell, he didn’t even really know why he was so angry about the whole thing, or who it was his fury was directed at — Bells or the alcoholic punk.

Finally, he slowed his pace and turned to look down at her. She was glaring up at him with blue eyes that were dulled by both the gray film of clouds coating the city and the confusion that she was waiting for him to wash away. Heaving a slight sigh, he attempted to put words to what he was feeling. “It's just everytime you do something alone, even-”

“-even if you approve, you don't like it.” She finished in a shallow, irritated tone, as though this had been obvious to her a long time ago. She paused, biting her lower lip and looking up at him as though requesting permission to elaborate. When she saw the license in his eyes, she continued. “I think… I think it's because of how HYDRA screwed with our brains. You know, the whole thing where you control everything I do which actually means HYDRA controls everything I do because HYDRA controls you…. Well, they don’t anymore, so now that the chain of command has been disrupted we don't know how to function, and in the uncontrollable hellhole of a world you’ve run out into, you’re trying to maintain some sense of control over your surroundings, so you want to control the only thing you ever really could…. But you get mad whenever something doesn't go as planned, which means you get mad whenever I do something that you didn’t explicitly plan to happen, because you feel like you've lost complete control over everything in your world then.”

Bucky had come to a complete halt just before they would have to turn onto the bustling street full of tourists at the twilight hour. Staring down at her as though allowing her words to impact his brain entirely, eventually he tilted his head in a slight nod, though his face was a blank slate. “Yeah,” he muttered, glancing away from her eyes that were burning to see if her theory was correct. Only he didn’t know if the red on the edges of his vision and the curdling in his stomach when she was talking to the man could be attributed to her explanation. But it was the only explanation he had so far. “Yeah, it’s definitely what HYDRA did….”


	49. September 7, 2014

“Prime real estate.” Bucky Barnes had the audacity to make a joke when Bellona Drager ground the key in the lock and clicked open the door to the tiny apartment before them. She'd been oddly distant and vaguely angry with him for the entire week following their securing of the place, so he'd been attempting to prod her back into her usual chattering self by attempting to be amusing, hoping something he muttered would click in her brain, or at least piss her off enough to get her talking; he needed to hear the therapeutic jingling bells of her voice, and something about cracking jokes — even bad ones — stirred his subconscious enough to bring back wisps of seventy-year-old memories and emotions. It was becoming addicting; and he would rather her be furious about his failed sense of humor than about something HYDRA related.

Bellona shot the former Winter Soldier a nasty look. She hadn't found any of his attempts to be humorous the past week funny at all, rather, they'd irritated her because she assumed he was only doing it because her talking distracted him from the demons in his head. She knew all about the demons in one’s head because he was one of them in hers. Furthermore, his absurd attempts of humor was triggering flashbacks that contained a young and sarcastic Tony Stark, someone she would currently rather not think about. And she wasn't in the mood to willingly comply with anything he wanted at the moment. “I’m sorry, did you want a mansion? With a spa? And a hot tub? And-”

“I was joking.” He sighed, though quietly pleased she'd snapped, knowing she was bound to continue. He ushered her in and closed the door behind them, feeling Bellona’s simmering irritation while he acquainted himself with the floor plan of the apartment and committed it to memory. 

“Because anything other than this and it would have looked weird if we payed in cash,” Bucky’s attempt had evidently succeeded and he was rewarded with one of her acrimonious, sarcastic rants. She was pissed because he'd gotten her to talk. He was thrilled because he'd gotten her to talk without trapping her eyes on his and using HYDRA’s handiwork to force her to. “I mean, we totally could just buy a goddamn mansion and throw Gatsby parties and ask Tony for some of his alcohol that can get a super-soldier utterly inebriated, but the feds, the Avengers, HYDRA, the local police, my ex-boyfriend, and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s former janitor would be on us in hours.” 

“What ex-boyfriend?” He had snapped his head over to glance at her with an inquisitive expression. She gave him a venomous sneer that held the demand into why he had asked that question out of all the things she had spouted.

“If I even had an ex-boyfriend, he's probably dead. Or middle-aged with children.”

“Oh. Okay then. Still a shitty apartment.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re trying to piss me off.”

“No I’m not.”

“Then shut up and take this off my wrist.” She flung out her right hand towards him in a disgusted gesture of dependence. 

“Why?” He queried, but stepped forward to snap the thick band of metal off anyways. 

“It’s easier with your left hand,” she informed him, and he dropped his right and raised his left; the bracelet responded easily to his silver touch, almost as though it were alive and thinking for itself. Seeing his expression, she snarkily added, “if you haven't yet figured that out.”

“Bells, where did you even get these?” Ignoring her attitude, for the first time he took a moment to study the circle of silver in his hands, wondering why it looked and even felt vaguely familiar. He hadn't thought much about the bracelets, she seemed so confident in them that he hadn't bothered to question her. It just seemed natural that she should have them; for her sake as well as the world’s, like the chain-link mail of so long ago — levees in case he failed.

“Tony made them for me,” she replied indifferently, turning her attention to the air molecules around the apartment. He insisted that if they would be staying in one place for while, then they ought to have an air ward around their location as often as possible, particularly for the first few weeks.

“What are they made of?” The question made her pause as she glanced over to find Bucky staring at her as if waiting for her to lie to him.

“Titanium,” that was half the truth. 

“What else?”

“Uh….”

“Bells.”

She averted her gaze from him and allowed her eyes to glaze as she stared blankly down at the floor, hoping he’d drop the subject. But he took a step towards her and she immediately made haste to mutter a response. “The old HYDRA metal.”

Bucky merely descended into silence, not needing words to express his thoughts on her decision. He let his arm clutching her bracelet drop to his side as he stared at her in astonished intrigue; he didn’t believe she would have had the mental grit to dare use something from their HYDRA past so blatantly. “Of all things to use, you picked that?”

“What?” She spread her arms as if challenging him, finding his reaction more offensive than he meant it to be.“They work, okay? I don’t know what they’re made of, and I don’t know if they can be replicated, so I just reforged from the old stuff.”

“But why-”

“Why didn't you chop your goddamn arm off if you hate HYDRA technology so much?”

Bucky paused, his stare seemed to probe her every word. She had crossed her arms and was now glaring at him as though daring him to continue the argument. “It's different.” He muttered, crossing his own arms in turn so they stood a few feet opposite the other. There was a strained silence as they stood, facing off and scrutinizing each other with a newfound intensity. 

“How is it different?” Bellona demanded after a moment, her eyes flashing.

“I can't just take my arm off like you can your bracelets. Besides — I'm…. It's-”

“It's a part of you,” she finished for him; now growing solemn, she pointed at the bracelets he clutched in the discussed metal arm. “You depend on it so much that to lose it now would be traumatizing. I know, Bucky. HYDRA knew that too. Why do you think I kept the metal?”


	50. October 1, 2014

“Why do you like plums so much?” Bellona Drager’s voice was sleepy as she padded catlike across the tiny apartment to hop onto the table, settling cross-legged and watching Bucky Barnes scribble in a notebook as he gnawed on a plum as though it was helping him recall what he wanted to jot down. He glanced up and studied her for a moment before responding; over the past few weeks she'd slowly returned to her bantering self that he was used to, albeit occasionally lapsing into brooding silences that made her stare blankly at the wall for hours while her eyes frosted over and her muscles trembled. Now, her braid was loosened, a few chestnut brown strands framed her cheeks and she was passively watching him with misty blue eyes that kept pushing sleep further and further away because sleep meant relinquishing the only shred of control she possessed over her mind.

“They taste good,” he shrugged as though the reason was more unconscious than conscious, “why do you like sitting on the table so much?”

“Because I like to be tall sometimes.”

“Right.”

“Give me a plum.”

He snatched one from the small pile at his left elbow and flicked it towards her. It sailed through the air and she snagged it with unnatural speed before clamping her jaws around it to take a bite. It tasted like bittersweet nostalgia tainted with a deep melancholy. 

“Are you playing with the weather again?” Bucky asked, nodding towards the windows. Even with the curtains drawn, both knew storm clouds were amassing over the city, purple with heavenly rage as they darkened the sky.

“No,” she frowned, sliding off the table and crossing the room to push back the curtains better eye the gathering storm. “I don’t think so….”

“Guess nature just does its own thing sometimes,” he said dismissively, flipping his notebook shut and returning it to its usual spot on top of the fridge before turning to look at Bellona with air of militant gravity, as though his next words could sink ships if uttered by anyone else. “I’ve modified the backup escape route. The window at the top landing blew out from the wind last night. It was already a vulnerable spot but it’s completely gone now. The window is approximately four feet above the fire escape — an easy distance to jump. The fire escape leads-”

“-across the alley to the roof of the building next door,” Bellona nodded along, munching the plum she held while foreseeing his modifications. It had become a weekly activity.

“And it also leads down into the alley itself,” Bucky seemed unfazed she’d interrupted him, in fact he’d rather expected it. “Should both these routes be compromised, the window is only three feet from the roof-”

“-and is jumping distance to the other adjacent building-”

“-which the fire escape does not lead to. Got it?”

“Understood,” neither of them seemed to think twice about the mechanical reflex that ran through her tone as she reached up and tugged on her braid to reorganize the few strands that had escaped.

“Watch that,” he warned her, flicking his eyes at her loosening hair as he dropped back into the seat before the table. The week prior she had done the exact same thing only to accidentally shatter one of the windows from the sudden drop in temperature.

“I got it,” Bellona muttered, tossing the plum away as tendrils of ice began stretching out into the air around her. Her hands were fixing the braid when there was a low growl of thunder from the bruise-colored skies that made a shiver run down her spine. Bucky shot an accusing look at her, and she shrugged, her expression growing unnerved — storms were a constant source of perturbation for her, an easy trigger for PTSD.

“Not me,” she murmured, twisted her hair back into its braid as she kept her eyes on the rumbling storm. “Wait a minute….”

“It can’t be you right?” Bucky demanded, “your bracelets-”

“It’s not me. But it could be.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if this is gonna work,” she announced, jerking her hands away from her braid and hurriedly combing out half of her hair from the braid she had just fixed. Swallowing her agitation, she agily parted her locks, pulling half to one side and braiding it quickly — all the white and ice disappeared in it. The other half was in tumbling dark waves, lacking any suggestion of elemental power. It would have looked comical had she not been so suddenly resolute. She turned and bounced across the room, skidding to a halt before the door which she jerked open immediately.

“Where are you going?” Bucky’s voice had a hint of astonished panic in it as he flew to his feet and followed after her.

“The roof!” She shouted before bursting out into the hallway landing just as another loud snarl of thunder rolled through the building, seeming to shake every glass window. She flinched in response to it as Bucky followed closely on her heels.

“What’s on the roof?” He demanded, the look in his eyes had changed as he instinctively shifted to prepare for a fight, his jaw was tensing and Bellona could almost hear his metal arm whirring and clicking as his muscles contracted. 

“A better vantage point,” she said, practically breathless before she bolted up the dimly lit stairs towards the window Bucky had told her had shattered last night. 

“Three feet, you said?” She murmured as she peered up out the window, having arrived there in seconds. The edge of the roof was visible, its dark brick a poor contrast against the blackening sky. Bellona turned and looked at Bucky, who had followed her up the stairs, increasingly bewildered. “Wanna give me a boost?”

“This better be worth it, Bells,” he grunted but obliged, helping her climb up and out of the window. She teetered on the ledge for a heartbeat before she turned and grabbed at the edge of the roof, hauling herself upwards in one smooth motion.

Bellona was in the middle of the roof, scrutinizing the sky with an inquisitive countenance when Bucky followed her up.

“Well, we know one thing,” she said calmly, without tearing her gaze from the swelling clouds.

“What?” Bucky asked after he had automatically scanned the roof and those of the surroundings buildings for potential threats.

“Your escape plan only works if I have help getting out of the window. That wastes precious time.” 

“I forget how short you are,” he commented, a taunting grin blooming over his face. Teasing her had become increasingly common once she had gotten over giving him the cold shoulder; it was an easy way to get a reaction from her. “Maybe you should grow. It's not very intimidating, being that short.”

“I'm over five feet, that's intimidating enough.”

“Over five feet by a whole inch —  _ terrifying. _ ”

“I don't need to be tall to be terrifying,” Bellona’s smirk was potent. “Now if this doesn’t work — run.”

“What are-”

Bucky was thrown into silence when Bellona bounded a few steps away from him and raised a hand directly up to the sky above, her palm flat, facing upwards. There was an ominous silence — then a loud roaring of thunder, a flash of brilliant, blinding light as a bolt streaked down from the portentous purple clouds, and impacted Bellona Drager’s palm. She staggered for a moment, the raw energy coursing through her body, thousands of volts hyper-charging her cells. She found herself on her knees on the rough asphalt of the roof, trembling as unadulterated power crawled through her body. She inhaled deeply, and reached up, grasping hold of the half of her loosened hair. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she poured the energy out of her body and into her hair, once she felt the flow of electric energy begin, her fingers deftly began braiding her hair, locking the energy into her tresses, dormant until unleashed again.

Next thing she knew, she was lying spreadeagled, evidently having collapsed, her entire body tingling slightly. Bucky’s voice snapped her to awareness. “Bells?”

“Yeah?” She said cheerfully, sitting up and gingerly running her fingers along the braid in which the storm’s power had been transferred. She could feel the electricity burning through it, though it had all the appearance of a normal French braid.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? Actually, I feel better than okay — I feel like I’ve overdosed on caffeine, if that was possible, of course, but with none of the negative side effects.”

“You collapsed,” he informed her, stretching out a hand to help her up. She took it and jumped up to her feet, grinning dynamically.

“I did?” She blinked in confusion, “is that how I ended up on the ground? Weird….”

“And the clouds are still here.”

“Oh,” she glanced upwards, where the inky clouds still hung over the city, but they appeared sunken and weak, as the energy had just been sucked out of them by a powerful atmospheric vacuum. “They’ll dissipate in a bit. They are matter, after all. I just transferred the energy out of them, to this.” She picked up her right braid and let it fall back to her shoulder.

“What about the ice?” He asked curiously, his eyes roving between the two braids as though to compare them.

“Transferred to this one,” she rubbed her left braid fondly. “It’s still there, but it was running out — I’ve been using it for so long.”

“Where did it even come from? Another storm?”

“The Blizzard of 1990.”

“There was a Blizzard of 1990?”

Her smile was superior as she stroked the braid again, “nope.” 


	51. December 27, 1990

Her mother adored French braids. They were both casual and classy, everyday and elegant. Bellona Drager had spent two weeks learning how to properly braid one. Her mother thought it an amusing teenage whim, but the seventeen-year old had greater ambitions. 

It had been those two weeks ago when her excited dog had romped into her bedroom to greet her, his wagging tail sending the candle she had lit in her room flying. In a panic not to burn down the house from a pine-scented candle, she’d lunged for it, forgetting her chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders. She had frozen when the tiny flame from the candle had jumped up towards her as though she had beckoned it. It climbed towards her locks as though they were the kindling needed to burn. Only no smell of burning hair or flesh reached her nose. She had sat there for almost an hour, marveling as flames danced their way around her hair the way moths were attracted to light. Bismarck, her loyal Shepherd, had been terrified of the way the fire fawned over her hair, whining and yapping at her the whole time. His anxious barks had struck an idea in her mind — so she had begun to braid her hair.

The clouds were the color of gleaming steel, so pregnant with frozen precipitation she could practically taste the first flakes in every breath she took. She was standing on the roof deck of her home in Boston, gazing eastwards at the approaching nor’easter. It was supposed to be a monster; the forecasters hadn’t shut up about it for days. Now it was just upon the northeast seaboard, a ticking time bomb ready to explode into feet of snow. 

The sun was just setting, although it was impossible to tell from the layering clouds; night, nevertheless, was sprinting over the city, darkening the streets and causing lights to flicker on in buildings, although the anxious gray clouds seemed to blanket and subdue the weak electrical lights the city held out in the face of the encroaching blackness. 

The wind was a sharp blast of pure ice, which she sucked into her lungs and held there, enjoying the cold, tangy feel of it. It was like having icicles grow within her lungs only to melt with the burning heat of her body, until the next breath froze her windpipe over again. 

Bellona Drager stood there until darkness wrapped the city into a cocoon of ignorance and the clouds burst open. The snow was quiet and gentle when it began. She stretched a bare hand upwards and allowed a few flakes to settle onto her skin, melting into her flesh with a slight tingling sensation. A frown of intense concentration upon her face, she kept her hand aloft and closed her eyes, expanding her senses, allowing the buzz of energy within her to leap up towards the storm above her and connect with it. 

She could feel the pulse of the nor’easter the way a doctor could feel his patient’s heartbeat, a vital sign of life. The clouds were throbbing with a fierce energy that was almost intimidating to the teenager on the roof. From the amount of raw power contained in the clouds, she guessed the meteorologists had been correct — the storm could bury the city, immobilizing it for days. 

Exhaling the way one does to prepare for an especially excruciating physical task, with her next intake of breath, she summoned the energy from the storm’s clouds, like a magician can summon fire to perform a cheap magic trick. But there was nothing cheap, nothing magical, and nothing tricky about the sudden unrelenting energy she felt flow down towards her, into her fingertips and the palm of her hand. She could feel her body temperature dropping as the nor’easter unleashed its energy upon her beckoning, it took a tremendous amount of willpower for her to pull her hands towards her hair and begin the arduous process of braiding. Her concentration was immense, as was required, as she transferred the sheer force behind the nor’easter from its clouds to her wavy tresses of hair. She didn’t stop to wonder why she was even able to do such a task, only focusing on the fact that she could and that she was. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she found herself collapsed on the roof deck. Neither did she remember falling over, or even losing consciousness. She raised a hand to her braid and ran her fingertips gently down the length of it. It was smooth and tight, and she thought she could feel the energy she had locked into it. Bellona glanced up — a few flakes were still serenely drifting down onto the city, but the clouds, despite the dark, were dull and faded. Feeling their lack of energy that was required to unleash hellish precipitation, she smiled up at the weakened clouds and allowed herself a soft chuckle. 


	52. December 12, 2014

“Nice undercover look. So covert. Very civilian. Much innocence.” Bellona Drager was taunting the former Winter Soldier’s fashion choices before the pair departed to purchase more of their ever-necessary supplies of coffee and plums. It had taken her a while to convert her subconscious anger at him to lighthearted sarcasm, something which should have been easier for her than it actually was. Perhaps because she was more used to teasing and joking around Tony, Steve, and the other Avengers than with the former Winter Soldier. However, once both of them had become used to using jokes to verbally lash out at the other, be it in fun or as an outlet for the tension that was apt to arise between them, their wars of words could grow exponentially ruthless.

Bucky Barnes had just finished his multi-layered outfit that was more likely to conceal several weapons than her own with his usual baseball cap. “Nice hat,” he shot an accusing finger her way. “Wonder where you got the idea from.” Her nondescript baseball cap was identical to the one he had just placed on his head.

“ _ From some anachronistic punk _ ,” Bellona slipped into Romanian. Whenever the two travelled in public, they spoke the country’s  native language, but when alone they spoke English, as their own native language possessed a certain nostalgia that was addicting.

“ _ Very funny _ ,” Bucky replied in the same tongue, though his tone put a halt to any further banter as he slid open the lock on the door. “ _ Now let’s go before it gets dark _ .”

Bellona popped on a pair of her favorite sunglasses and followed Bucky out of the apartment, down the hall, the stairs, and into the bustling city street. The sun was beginning to droop in the horizon, casting long shadows over the urban landscape. Its waning rays did naught to ward off the creeping chill that was seeping through the city, though neither of them were very much affected by the plummeting temperature.

“Two men, ten yards behind us, heading this way,” Bucky murmured into her ear. With the calmness that came from experience, her braids twitched as she casually snuck a glance over her shoulder and spotted who he was referring to.

“An officer and his trainee, two weapons — pistols,” she said in a low voice. “Minimal threat. I’m thinking the officer’s shift ends soon, his trainee can’t wait to leave, probably has a date with a girl.”

Without slowing their pace, Bucky shot a look down at her, utter disbelief stunning his face. “How can you tell  _ that _ ?”

“The officer looks irritated, his trainee is jumpy, is checking his appearance in every reflective surface, and keeps eying the flower vendor across the street.”

Suavely, Bucky shot a look at them and then laughed under his breath. “You’re right.”

“Now where do we want to get plums from? I like the Italian guy who gives me flowers.”

“I’m not overly fond of him,” Bucky’s response was gruff as his eyes swept the street around them, observing everything.

Bellona snickered with dark amusement. “I’m not overly fond of flowers either. I just think he’s funny.”

“No, you just like the attention.”

“And you like plums so let’s go,” she snatched Bucky’s hand in her own and led him down and across the street to where the stocky dark-haired Italian vendor had his produce set up. He was young, early twenties, studying medicine at a nearby university — he would often pull out a textbook when business was slow. He sold fresh fruits and vegetables with a coalition of his friends, many of them Romanian, several of whom owned or worked on local farms just outside the city where the fruit they sold was grown.

“Giorgio!” Bellona hailed the young vendor as she approached. The Italian glanced up from his battered  textbook and smiled widely, revealing crooked teeth but delighted eyes.

“ _ Ciao, bella _ !” He greeted the girl magnanimously in Italian before switching to patchy Romanian. “You come for plums?”

“How does he know your name?” Bucky whispered down to her, quietly enough that only another super-soldier would be able to hear him.

“He doesn’t,” she snickered as Giorgio shot her a lively wink and Bucky’s eyes narrowed in annoyance as the Italian started rattling off about his latest shipment of fruit.

“How many lei for a dozen?” Bellona smoothly interrupted his enthusiastic chatter.

“Twelve lei, twelve, but maybe it can be less for  _ la bella donna _ , huh?”

“ _ La bella donna  _ thinks it should be less,” Bellona teased the fruit vendor, who was ignorant of the fact that the former Winter Soldier, standing next to her and shooting him suspicious glances, was entirely able to understand Italian; Bellona having taught it to him on their extensive car rides around Europe in retaliation for his deciding against going to Italy.

“Then maybe it can be less, maybe it can be less, but ah…  _ bella,  _ what’s this in your hair?” Both Bellona Drager and Bucky Barnes froze as the flirtatious Giorgio reached a hand towards one of the girl’s braids, the very one that contained the dormant power of a thunderstorm. They almost expected there to be a deafening crack of thunder, but there was only the cracking of the Italian’s silly grin. “You’re hiding flowers in your hair now, eh  _ bella _ ?” He babbled, pulling off a cliche magic trick as he pretended to pull a flower from behind her ear and immediately presented it to her.

“I hide many things in my hair, Giorgio,” Bucky could tell her giggle was fabricated as she took the blood-red flower from him and tucked it into her right braid. “But you’re hiding plums from me.”

“Ahh, never  _ bella,  _ never would I hide the best plums in the world from such a beautiful girl!” Giorgio turned and gestured to his latest stock of the fruit. “The freshest in the world, Giorgio’s plums, the finest in the universe!”

“We’ll take six,” Bucky finally cleared his throat, giving the Italian an icy look as he jumped into the conversation. He was getting that sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that he associated with Bells “improvising” something as he watched from a distance. Except he wasn’t sure what she was improvising right now, seeing as he was standing right next to her.

“Twelve lei _. _ ”

Bellona tightened her grasp on Bucky’s left hand, feeling his bubbling irritation. “But Giorgio,” her voice was a calm purr, “you said it could be less.” She didn’t necessarily care how much money they spent, she just found it entertaining to watch the Italian fawn over her and Bucky to grow annoyed at someone other than herself.

“I do not study economics,  _ bella _ ,” Giorgio winked before slipping into Italian. “ _ I said it could be less for la bella donna. But I’m charging your boyfriend full price _ .”

Bucky Barnes was so stunned by the vendor’s statement, Bellona Drager almost burst into gales of laughter. Evidently, he knew she was struggling to not burst into sniggers because he shot a withering glare down at her, before promptly averting it towards the Italian, who unconsciously took a step backwards upon sighting the glacial look in the Winter Soldier’s eyes.

“But how much for me, Giorgio?” Bellona asked in Romanian, her voice containing a subtle warning for Bucky to stand down. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

This seemed to thrill the young vendor; his face lighting up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Take as many plums as you desire,  _ bella _ , if you’d do me the honor of meeting me at the cafè down the street in the morning…. Call it a date, if it please you.”

“Bag six of them for me.” Her voice was calm, a finger lightly tapping the back of Bucky’s gloved metal hand as she felt it contracting. The Italian complied with her order and soon handed over the bagged fruit. She took them with a gracious smile, then released Bucky’s hand from her’s and held it up to him, without taking her eyes off Giorgio. “Twelve lei _._ ” Bucky handed her the money immediately, and she in turn, handed it to the Italian. “Thank you for the plums, Giorgio, but I already have a date in the morning.”

“ _ Ah, unlucky, unlucky _ !” Giorgio cried good-naturedly in Italian, “ _ though your date isn’t unlucky… ciao, bella, until next time, then _ !”

She was smirking at him when Bucky clenched her hand in his again and steered her away from the fruit vendor, almost dragging her down the crowded street.

“I told you I don’t like him,” he grunted once they’d melted away into the crowd. “He’s a flirtatious punk. And what do you mean you already have a date in the morning?”

Bellona’s laugh was like the low toll of a bell cutting through a thick fog. “A date with my coffee. Which we need to get right now.” She tugged her hand out of the iron grip of his left metal one and held out her wrist to him, tugging back the sleeve of her jacket to reveal the metal bracelet clasped around her wrist.

“Why?” Bucky asked, his eyes widening as he gave her a searching look, knowing she wanted him to remove it and wondering for what possible reason she would need to use elemental power in the middle of a Bucharest street with dozens of civilian witnesses around.

She deliberately lifted her sunglasses just so she could roll her eyes at him. “Can you just do it, Barnes?”

The bracelet responded to the touch of his metal fingers, even under his thick glove, and it unclasped itself, falling into his palm. Bellona reached up with this hand and plucked the scarlet flower from her braid. Bucky watched it burn to ashes at the touch of her fingers, and she let the dust float away, scattered in the twilight breeze that cooled the street.


	53. January 2, 2015

Bellona Drager awoke with a scream. She had finally succumbed to a restorative sleep after days of catching only the occasional catnap, but all it took was the beginning of a nightmare; a howling, ripping, clawing reminder of the past and she was leaping to recover consciousness.

She lunged upright, breathless, her muscles quivering with energy as electricity began to crackle and spark around her hands. Her containing bracelets lay somewhere across the room, her eyes wide, horrified, and unseeing, as though she was watching not what was before her, but a farce of a script playing out on the back of her skull.

“Bells!” Bucky Barnes had been across the apartment, brooding over memories etched into a notebook and occasionally spinning one of Bellona’s bracelets between his hands, letting the metal clink off his silver arm and enjoying the victory that he’d finally convinced her to not wear them as often as she had become used to.

He was at her side instantly as muscles spasms shook her body violently, so he did the first thing that popped into his mind, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her towards him, murmuring consolations in an attempt to get her to focus on his voice and calm down. It worked almost instantaneously, once she’d recovered consciousness; she slowly began to relax despite still trembling, she leaned into his chest, her lungs pumping air as though she’d just sprinted her way through a marathon. The electric sparks dancing around her fingertips began to dissipate, seeping back into the pores of her skin like the tide creeping off a sandy beach.

Then there was an explosion. It could have been gunfire, or fireworks, or a car backfiring. But the thunder was accompanied by lightning, which illuminated the room with its eerie electrical light, and Bellona’s breath caught in her throat. She choked as suddenly memories were blasted to the surface of her mind, of electrical currents buzzing through her arms and into her body….

Bucky had been forced to release her — flames had begun jumping off her very hands, shards of ice accompanied it, leaping from her hands with a fury all their own. Dry sobs racked her body as she hunched over, the elements running rampant from her fingers, threatening destruction with their potential power.

And then something hit her. She was thrown from the bed and onto the hard floor from the impact, her hands flew up to break the fall, but she found them pinned over her head at the elbows. Bucky had jumped on top of her; she shook with a magnitude comparable to an earthquake and barely felt him snap the bracelets around her wrists.

Next thing she knew, the energy coursing out of her in the form of elemental destruction was tamed, and she was left shivering on the floor as her muscle reactions lingered.

“Bells?” Bucky was still restraining her arms, staring down at her with worry. Her eyes sluggishly blinked to focus on him. 

“What the hell,” she muttered, wincing and glancing up at the gleaming metal that encircled each of her wrists. “I never should have taken them off. That was a horrible idea.”

“You were fine before though,” Bucky felt like he was defending herself against herself. “For….”

“For what, barely a week?” She closed her eyes and groaned. She heard Bucky sigh before releasing her arms and climbing to his feet. She snapped her eyes back open and took the hand he’d extended out to help her up. 

“Did you cause the storm?” He asked, looking towards the covered windows where thunder was growling aggressively. “Or was the storm affecting you?”

“I don’t know!” She had the sudden urge to stamp her foot on the ground but ended up flinching away when lightning surged again, illuminating the room around them. She turned her back to the windows and licked her cracking lips, trying to calm her fraying nerves. The pale scar on her throat was tingling along with the rest of her body. “Why is there a goddamn thunderstorm in January?!”

“Bells,” Bucky’s sigh was reassuring as he pulled her into a hug. “It’s just a storm....”

“I hate electricity!” She whimpered, melting into his hug like it was the only thing preventing her from tearing apart her very brain.

“Can’t you control it?” He asked, sinking down to the mattress and pulling her with him, keeping his metal arm securely around her.

Her laugh was mordant as she let her head drop onto his chest and closed her eyes, his heartbeat a steady pulse that hers was quick to synchronize with, allowing calm to spread through her body, relaxing muscles and cooling the energy leaping from cell to cell. “Wield it maybe. But not control it — why do you think HYDRA needed you?”


	54. January 3, 2015

She awoke because his heartbeat quickened. Her eyes snapped open and flicked upwards, glancing at Bucky’s face. His breathing was still deep and heavy, but there were were faint lines etched around his eyes, and his lips were twisted into a frown. His eyes were roving about behind his eyelids, but it was the rapid firings of his heart beating that gave it away; the demons shrieking about his head had dug their claws into his mind. His arms had grown slack around her, she first believed it was because of the hell going through his head, but she soon observed the real reason. His right arm, from fingertips to his mid-forearm was a battleground of dripping cuts, growing bruises, and charred burns from direct contact with the elements she had failed to control before he had slapped the bracelets around her wrists. Bellona’s eyes grew round as she studied the extent of the injuries she had unknowingly inflicted upon him. Some cuts were deep, the blood oozing out however, had already clotted, looking black in the dim light. Even blacker were the burns he'd received from the flames, they were shiny and insidious, blending into fresh bruises and congealing blood. She felt unmitigated, damning guilt wash over her like a battering wave, it drowned out her own mental anguish, though she knew she could just as easily repair what she’d done.

Bellona carefully shifted his unharmed left arm from its secure embrace around her to free her own left hand, from which she removed the metal bracelet. She allowed pure white energy to filter into her palm, then watched it trickle onto two of her fingers, which she flipped and lightly pressed to the first of many bruises on his right arm. Cool, restorative energy flowed from her fingers over the injuries. It took a few minutes for her to completely heal the landscape of wounds. Bruises faded, rejuvenated blood flowed back into his skin as cuts closed, cells dividing rapidly to create new tissue, burns were chilled, then healed until it was impossible to know he had grappled with raw elements the night before.

“Thanks.” Bellona flinched, startled by the sudden voice in her ear. She snapped her head sideways to look at Bucky and he smiled when her eyes met his and grew calm. His face had relaxed, he appeared content, no signs of having been enthralled in the grasps of mental devils.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” she said, struggling to tug her removed bracelet back over her wrist.

“I’ve been awake,” he informed her, taking the bracelet and slipping it over her hand for her before draping his left arm back over her shoulders and upper body in an unconscious motion as though to assure himself she was present beside him.

“For how long?”

“Since you healed the first bruise,” he chuckled, “do you know what that feels like?”

“To me it just feels like energy buzzing through my body,” she shrugged, curiosity sparked. “What’s it feel like to you?”

“Like….” He paused a moment, searching for an explanation. “Water… water from the Lake of Avalon, but only slightly, it doesn’t feel wet, but you can feel the coolness of it. It’s nice…. But weird.”

His eyes flickered when her laugh sounded like church bells, ringing merrily through his ears. “‘Nice but weird’ — so, ten out of ten? Would recommend?”

“Maybe nine out of ten,” he teased, rolling his right wrist as though to stretch it out. 

“Only a nine?” Her voice was creamed with mock offense.

“You could have missed a spot.”

“How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t,” he grinned down at her, “my whole arm feels like it's being massaged by… ice, but not frozen….”

“Ice?” Bellona snorted, “I could have used ice to heal it, kinda like cryo…. It would have been crude, and dramatic….”

“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Bucky informed her, “you usually like the dramatic.”

“No I don’t!” She protested, glaring up at him.

“Really because you’re the world’s biggest drama queen, Bells.”

“That is an incredible hyperbole!” She declared, rolling out from under his arm and hopping to her feet. He grinned up at her like a Cheshire Cat, then laughed when she turned her back to him and stalked away.

“World’s biggest drama queen,” she snorted under her breath while she tugged open their refrigerator door and surveyed the contents. “More like world’s hungriest queen. I'm making breakfast for me, not you, seeing as you think I'm some sort of, of, of  _ diva _ .”

There was a roar of laughter from across the room and she whipped around to find Bucky sprawled across the mattress, laughing so hard there were almost tears coming out of his eyes. She’d never seen him laugh so genuinely at something that the sight astonished her. “What is so  _ funny _ ?” Bellona demanded, slamming down the quart of milk but being sure to gently place the carton of eggs on the counter. She glared at him until he sobered up and choked out an answer. 

“You  _ are  _ a diva….”

“I am not!” She argued, snatched a bowl from somewhere and angrily cracking eggs into it, cursing when bits of the shells landed in the mix.

“But you are.”

“Yeah, well….” the blue-eyed girl paused, the whisk in her hand hovering above the bowl of cracked eggs and milk, “maybe I'll reconsider healing your wounds next time.”

“But you see,” he snickered, sitting up from the mattress. His hair was rumpled and some strands were haphazardly strewn about but amusement was still evident upon his face. “That's exactly the kind of thing a diva would say. Thanks for making me breakfast by the way.”

Bellona poured the eggs into the pan she had heated on the stove, then turned and flung the used whisk across the room at him. He caught it like a teenage boy does a baseball, with expert ease and cool confidence. Then he whipped it back at her. She flung her right bracelet off, let the whisk fly within inches of her stoic face, then paused it in the air. It stayed there, dripping raw egg quietly on the floor while she glared past it. 

“Throwing things at the chef? You're definitely not getting breakfast now.”

“Excuse me?” Bucky strode across the room in a few quick paces and placed himself in the chair at the table, just in front of the stove. “You threw it at me.”

“And you threw it back,” Bellona said coolly, snagging the whisk out of the air, turning her back to him and giving her attention to the cooking eggs. 

“But you threw it at me first.” She ignored his juvenile argument until the eggs were done. Instead of grabbing a plate, she only snagged a fork, picked up the pan, its hot surface not harming her skin, and hopped onto the counter. She settled herself cross-legged, sent Bucky a charming smirk, then dug into the pan of eggs. 

“You're not going to eat all that,” he called from his chair. 

“Says who?” She challenged through a mouthful. 

“Me.”

“And who's ‘me’?”

“The one who you're supposed to-”

“Don’t you bring HYDRA into this!”

“Shit… That’s not what I meant….  _ Bells _ ,” he pouted, adopting the puppy-dog look that he had learned would usually get a reaction from her. “I'm  _ hungry _ _. _ ”

Bellona leaned to her left, snatched a plum from his small pile, and threw it at him. He caught it with his metal arm easily, took a bite, and then threw it back. 

“Ew!” She shrieked, jumping off the counter to avoid his half-eaten fruit. He took advantage of her  movement immediately, leaping out of the chair and snatching the pan of eggs out of her very hands. But he was strategic, instead of taking it all for himself, he scooped half onto a plate and then shoved the pan back into her hands before an enraged Bellona could throw a punch at him. 

“Not fair,” she breathed, when she was left with half the eggs she’d made. 

“How is it not fair?” He had already taken a seat and dug into the eggs. “We both got half. In fact, you got more, since you had already eaten some.”

Bellona sighed and gave him her most dramatic eyeroll, to which he snorted and pointed at the dark-haired girl with his fork, “diva.”

The proclaimed diva returned to stabbing the eggs with her own fork and muttering under her breath a variety of curses and threats all aimed at him. His smirk told her he knew exactly what she was saying. 

“Stop  _ smirking _ at me,” Bellona demanded after a few minutes, tossing the empty egg pan into the sink and tugging off her left bracelet. 

“Whoa,” he stood warily, eyeing the girl cautiously at this action.

“Relax,” she held up her hands reassuringly, “I'm cleaning the pan. Maybe I'll clean your plate too….”

“Queen Diva would humble herself to do that? Shocking.”

“Shut up!” Bellona scowled, letting a stream of water scour the pan clean, then turning her hand and flicking it towards him. A jet of water rocketed towards him, he dodged, flinging his plate at her, which she caught and tossed into the sink, then he lunged towards her. She held an arm up in threatening defense but he simply hung the bracelet back around her left wrist with a swift movement.  

“Lame,” she muttered, looking up at him. She was still sitting on top of the counter, and he was standing before her, looking down at her with mischief dancing in his aqua eyes. “Great, now the table is soaked because you weren't game enough to get wet.”

Bucky seemed offended at this, “the game was to  _ not  _ get wet.”

“Not my game,” Bellona announced, popping her right bracelet off and waving her hand. The water dripping across the table evaporated instantly, and she returned the bracelet to her wrist. 

Next thing she knew, Bucky had leaned forward, grabbed both her hands in his, and forced the two bracelets off either of her wrists.

“What….” Bellona was speechless as she watched him pocket them. 

“You were driving me insane,” he explained, “taking them off and putting them back on again.” 

“But… last night….”

“That was only because there was a storm. You’ll be fine, Bells.”

She stared at him curiously for a moment, then shrugged, “okay.” 

“So Queen Diva, what do you think we need to do today?” Bucky asked, placing his hands on the counter on either side of her and raising an eyebrow, his smirk returning.

“Well,” Bellona frowned thoughtfully, “Giorgio probably misses me-”

“Fuck Giorgio. I asked what  _ we  _ need to do today.”

“Maybe I want to see Giorgio. Maybe I want to meet Giorgio for coffee. Maybe I want to make out with Giorgio in the dark alleyways of-”

“You don't.”

“And you would know, how?”

“Because I know you.”

“But you just told me to fuck Giorgio.”

“No! I didn't-”

“You said-”

“I know what I said!” 

“Well then why do we have a problem?”

“We don't have a problem, you just like causing problems.”

“I do not! I like solving problems.”

“After you've created them.”

“Nonsense-” Bucky silenced her by rapidly slapping a hand over her mouth. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, then realized what had startled him. Loud police sirens were passing through the street down below. Bucky raised a silver finger to his lips, gesturing Bellona to be silent, but nonetheless kept his other hand over her mouth as both remained motionless and listened, tense as the sirens drew closer. 

It was a few moments before the squawking sirens faded away and then disappeared completely. Bellona’s muscles relaxed; Bucky slumped out of his taut, defensive position, and removed his hand from her mouth. 

“Every time,” Bellona sighed and he smiled grimly. They’d fallen into the habit of tensing up when shrieking sirens were heard, ready to flee if the noise was in pursuit of the fugitive pair.

“So, Bells,” Bucky said once both had calmed down, “seeing as you've come up with no rational plan for the day, I'll come up with one.” 

Bellona groaned, “can it not be buy plums from the old guy who looks like he’s been here since Romania was the Roman province of Dacia, then reroute Escape Route Number Four because of a previously overlooked detail.”

“How did you know?” He either was astonished or doing a fairly good job of pretending to be.

She was the one smirking this time, mockingly arching an eyebrow at him as she used his own words against him. “Because I know you.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head slightly before reopening his eyes and laughing. He leaned forward, picked Bellona up off the counter as lightly as if he’d just plucked a plum from a pile, swung her around and placed her down on the floor, exactly one hundred and eighty degrees from where she’d been sitting prior. “Well let's go then.”


	55. May 1, 2015

“A few more miles…. Then there’s a dirt road… and then there should be a driveway... I think.”

“And no one knows it exists?”

“Well….”

“Who knows?”

“Tony Stark.”

“Should we expect-”

“No, there’s no way he’d know we’d come here. Besides, he’s been  _ busy _ .”

“Doing the reason we had to come to fucking New Hampshire?”

“You’re gonna miss the turn if you keep speaking like that, Sarge-”

“Just because I’m from the nineteen-forties doesn’t mean we didn’t use all your ‘modern’ cuss words. Besides, we were in the army. That’s the worst you can get for foul language.”

“Oh, well sorry I didn’t know all you did in the army was mouth off. Turn here!”

“I got it. But how did you remember this was here?”

“I dunno. Stars, I guess.”

“What?”

“I remember stargazing here. With Tony. There’s no light pollution or anything.”

Bucky Barnes allowed himself a glance at the dark-haired girl in the passenger seat of the Jeep Wrangler they’d hot wired a couple states away. Since then they’d driven across the northeastern United States to New Hampshire; their destination being some obscure lake house that Bells swore her family owned. He was already unhappy that they’d had to leave Romania because Bells had a meltdown a few days ago, claiming that Tony Stark and the other Avengers had gotten their hands on some piece of alien technology that HYDRA had been using. She had — literally — freaked out and almost burned the entire apartment complex down, raving that she had to go “knock some sense into Tony fucking Stark”, so he’d finally come to a compromise with her (after sporting a bruised jaw from her fist for half a day). He would accompany her to the States; using her family lake house as a springboard, she would go on ahead to New York and he would return to eastern Europe, but indirectly, leaving plenty of room for error for anyone possibly tracking them. After twenty-four hours, she would return to Romania. They hoped separating would confuse and intimidate whoever could be on their tail, as it would be expected for the two to travel together. 

He wasn’t entirely thrilled with the plan, but it had been the only thing that had gotten Bellona to defuse; Tony Stark utilizing alien technology that had previously been in HYDRA’s grasp upset her in a variety of ways — she was taking it like a personal offense — and both assassins knew how lethal HYDRA tech could be. 

Despite being relatively used to her occasional eccentric omniscience, he was still having trouble understanding how she just  _ knew _ that Stark had gotten his hands on a piece of alien technology. It made no logical sense, he knew she had no contact with any of the Avengers, but he couldn’t deduce how else she would have known about it. There was nothing in the Romanian newspapers, but yet her sudden awareness of whatever had occurred was disturbingly bizarre — he  _ felt _ the shift in the energy that buzzed around her ever since she’d started screaming a few days ago, like someone had upped the wattage of a generator.

Now, however, her vague claims that she remembered “stargazing” at the lake house irked him — the memories she could recall from her prior life were randomly assorted; she could easily go into a rant about something stupid Tony Stark had done when they were teenagers together but never mentioned anything about her parents.

“Can you tell me why we’re doing this again?” Bucky asked her, following her driving cues as she pointed out the paved driveway that led to what turned out to be an extremely secluded cottage nestled on a little hill at the foot of the mountains; the distant dribbling suggested that the heavy spring rain was falling into a greater body of water somewhere below the house.

“Because Tony did something stupid!” Bellona snapped with more venom than normal because Bucky had continuously been repeating the same question ever since they’d left Europe. “Extremely stupid! Don’t ask how I could possibly know that; it’s some sort of intuitive feeling,” she trailed off to a mumble, rubbing the pale scar at her neck nervously, as though suddenly hit by a drastic thought.

“This is the house right?” Bucky switched the subject; Bells was in a major mood, and had been for a few days, ever since she’d dropped a cup of coffee in the middle of the apartment and screamed out Tony Stark’s name. Her mood matched the different aura of energy around her, and part of the reason he’d even agreed to their little excursion was because he wanted to avoid any possible incidents which could occur should she have a relapse or be ticked off by something. The reason he’d agreed for them to split up halfway through said excursion was because he wanted to avoid being what ticked her off to destructive capacities. After all, Bells had  _ punched him  _ because of this whole situation. Actually punched  _ him. _ Had literally turned  _ against  _ him, albeit for a brief moment, because of something Stark had done with some alien tech. It was so backwards that he was ready to do anything she wanted if it would mollify the energy that was causing her to act so atypical.

“Yeah,” Bellona muttered, staring through the windshield at the small but cozy lake house. Through the somber rain the Jeep’s headlights illuminated the peeling gray paint, shuttered windows, and worn brick chimney, making it look even more lonely and deserted in addition to the fact that it had stood unused for decades. The dull rain bounced off the shingles of the roof and dripped from the gutters on the sides, lending the house a haunting appearance, as though it was dolefully weeping. “The door’s probably locked…. I don’t know if we kept a key somewhere but a locked door isn’t really a problem, or at least it shouldn’t be….”

Bucky knew exactly what she was doing: blabbering nonsense because she’d rather spout useless noise than come to terms with the fact that her mind was drawing a total blank on memories concerning the house.

“I don’t think we used the place a lot,” she continued, clicking her seatbelt off and reaching for the handle of the Jeep door to step out into the rain. “Maybe once or twice a summer, that must be why I’m not really remembering much. It must have been pretty boring up here, then. But the stars were nice… when it was clear and the right time of year….”

Bucky followed her out into the downpour and towards the house. She finally stopped chattering when she’d jumped up the two steps that led to the house and stood before the closed wooden door with a round silver doorknob that was slick from the rain.

“Should I break the door down or….” But Bucky had already slipped his hand towards hers and pulled off one of her bracelets, so she reached out with this hand and placed it over the knob. There was a distant clicking noise as a surge of energy rushed through the lock’s mechanisms, forcing them to turn, and the bracelet was back on her wrist when the door popped open.

They spent half an hour exploring the house; though Bellona stopped after ten minutes, claiming she was tired, and returned to the main living room with a dead fireplace, two plush sofas, and a T.V. that must have been modern in the 1990’s. Bucky was well-aware she simply did not want to explore a house that was a part of her past but did not stir any memories, so he continued alone. He mapped out the place instinctively, though there wasn’t much to discover. The most intriguing thing he’d stumbled upon was a hideout shelter in the basement with small stash of weapons, mostly small handheld pistols, and enough emergency supplies to last a family of three at least a year, including everything from first-aid kits to M.R.E.’s.

He found her in the living room on the main floor, sitting on one of the faded maroon couches with her legs tucked under her, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands (the caffeinated beverage being one of the things she’d insisted they bring with them from Europe), staring irritably at the fireplace which now had crackling flames dancing in it. He noticed the coffee she clutched lacked ice and knew it wasn’t because she simply couldn’t find any in the house that hadn’t held human inhabitants for years. So he silently dropped down onto the opposite side of the couch and assumed the activity of staring into the fire; discerning the tense pulses of energy floating off her and waiting for her to speak first.

“I’m mad it’s raining,” she finally muttered after a few moments of nothing but the trickling of water outside. “I wanted to see the stars. There were so many of them up here. You could always see Mars — looked just like a star, except for, you know, actually being a planet....”

Bucky didn’t know why she was suddenly so obsessed with fucking astronomy. But he wasn’t going to ask, seeing as he could feel the agitation sweeping through her from across the couch.

“Tony used to say that the stars were just floating balls of gas, but he was always one to downplay things like that, and up-play whatever stupid technological thing he’d recently done. He has no common sense, everything he thought was a good idea always had some sort of horrible backfiring…. I’m surprised he was able to invent his suits…. I’d love to see how many screw-ups he had before finally getting one right….”

“What do you think he’s done this time?” Bucky ventured the question, his gaze remained on the shivering flames in the fireplace until Bellona turned to glance over at him and he met her eyes. Their blue was full of such throbbing worry he almost wanted to order her into the Jeep and go straight back to Romania with no regard for whatever bullshit Tony Stark had pulled.

“Something really fucking stupid.” 


	56. May 2, 2015

High silver heels clicked softly on the glass floor of the hallway that overlooked the party below. The revelry was winding down; people were laughing and having one last drink of shared merriment before waving and shouting intoxicated goodbyes to each other. She stood above, resting her forearms on the translucent glass banister, double braids swinging over her shoulders, reaching down to her elbows. Her arms were bare, save twin bracelets of thick silky silver metal clasped around each of her wrists. Her dress was a flattering black, hugging her upper body before flaring out into folds at the waist, swirling around her thighs with every movement and being apt to conceal several weapons. Her casual yet alert posture eloquently combined maidenly grace and inveterate experience to the point the attributes blended and conceived an entirely unique aura of battle-hardened poise. Her eyes however, were shamelessly arresting. Their blue glowered like metal forged in the anvils of Vulcan himself, manufactured with cutting precision and channeled passion; they left no room for error. 

It was with these violent orbs that Bellona Drager observed the festivities from above. Most of the guests had trickled out by now, leaving a small group clustered on the couches and chairs surrounding a low glass table. She knew most of them. Tony Stark. Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff.  Clint Barton. Thor Odinson. Bruce Banner. Agent Hill. There were a few others whom she failed to recognize, though this was of little concern to her. A slight smile crept onto her pale lips as the group laughed and joked amongst themselves, some vainly attempting to pick up Thor’s mighty hammer, which was lying serenely on the table between them all. She watched Steve Rogers’ attempt and snickered under her breath; the sound seemed to echo through the air with a whickering vibration and the party below sensed her pulsing energy before they heard her. She found the group collectively whipping around to spot her as she began to descend from the stairs.

“You throw a party and don’t invite me?” Bellona Drager’s voice carried through the room like the merry pealing of bells; a grin lighting upon her face as the reactions began rolling in.

“Bella!?” Tony Stark shouted, falling from his seat in shock. The Iron Man hand he still had on from attempting to lift Mjolnir broke his fall and he scrambled up to his feet, his drink clattering away to the floor as he gawked at her. This had to be some sort of dream, no way could the person whom he had spent the past year searching for just decide to appear in his Tower without his knowing. It was absurd — how much had he been drinking? No way, no way….

Meanwhile, Natasha Romanoff had choked on her drink, and was now spluttering and coughing in surprise, because her last lead on the former HYDRA operative had her in Istanbul, Turkey. And that lead had come from none other than Nick Fury himself, whom she doubted would ever feed her false information over a matter of such gravity.

Thor, whom had just picked up his own hammer to demonstrate his worthiness, dropped it back onto the table. It shattered the glass coffee table with an ear-splitting crack, causing all occupants to flinch in reaction, creating a disorderly muddle as the sudden increase in sensory input bewildered everyone. 

Steve Rogers’ jaw had gone completely slack, he was clutching the armrests of his chair in astonishment; but his eyes instantly began to flick around the room, wondering if Bellona had come alone, or if a particular sergeant had come with her. Sam Wilson had been tracking the pair when Steve was busy with Avengers work, but the Falcon hadn’t mentioned having any new leads on the fugitives, so he couldn’t grasp how Bellona could just turn up like so. Last time Sam had mentioned anything that might be something more than a cold lead, his intel had placed the pair in Portugal. New York City was not Portugal.

Clint Barton was staring silently across the room at the dark-haired girl, his drink halfway to his open mouth, seemingly paralyzed as to how he should be reacting. Bruce Banner looked like he was attempting to practice his breathing exercises to relax, and Agent Hill had tried to pat Natasha on the back to clear her throat but her arm had paused in mid-air, her face betraying her flabbergastation. She’d only met the Drager girl once but she understood the implications of her sudden return to the Avengers Tower.

“That’s me,” Bellona Drager replied as she snaked her way down the stairs and into the party area, giggling softly to herself at their reactions. “In the flesh.”

There was a strained silence as the group stared at her and she at them. It had been over a year since she had vanished after the fiasco in Washington D.C., and here she stood before them all, a slight grin adorning her face like she had just gone to the convenience store down the street to pick up chips and salsa and now was back to continue the merrymaking. 

Steve Rogers made the first move. He pulled himself up from his chair, crossed the distance of the room in two strides, and pulled the girl in the black dress into a bear hug. She laughed at this embrace and returned the hug gladly, suddenly hit with a wave of emotion as she realized how much she had missed the group; she’d been so caught up with the HYDRA mess, Pierce wiping her memories, and being on the run that she’d forgotten that the motley group had become her adopted family. Steve released her after a moment and Natasha jumped in for a brief hug that was extended further by Clint leaping in and making it a group hug between the most dangerous assassins in the world, minus one. Thor went in for a handshake next but she pulled the Asgardian into a hug, making a snide remark about how friends don’t greet friends with handshakes, even if said friends were gods. She turned to Banner next with a side smirk; he gave her a mirthless smile and did in fact settle for a handshake with regards to his attempts to refrain from awakening the other guy, which, due to her prior comment, he made sure to vocalize. And then before anyone else could greet her, Tony Stark strolled across the room to stand before the girl with piercing blue eyes whom he still referred to as his sister.

“Where have you been?” His anger was evident in the slight shaking of his voice. The others turned to watch Bellona, their faces asking the same question.

“Away,” she replied cryptically, her lips a harsh line as she lightly tapped a silver heel on the marble floor.

“Where?” Steve pushed for answers.

“Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?” Tony demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously. Natasha looked as if she wanted to add onto this assertion but instead lapsed into silence, sharing a furtive look with Clint.

“Yes,” Bellona sighed and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I had to hide from everyone to hide from HYDRA when S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed. Besides, all the files HYDRA had on me in the S.H.I.E.L.D. database were leaked onto the web…. Every law-and-order organization on the planet would be searching for me, I assumed….”

“Including us,” Natasha murmured and Bellona shot her a grim smile and a nod. The room tensed back into a silence as everyone suddenly found their fingernails, drinks, or a random spot on the floor extremely interesting, though Tony Stark was still fuming, seemingly unable to formulate words at the moment; and Steve Rogers was curiously staring at Bellona, wondering why she was speaking in the singular. He looked about to inquire into this before the silence was interrupted.

“Um… wait, is this who I think it is?” The tall black man whom Bellona vaguely recognized piped up, staring around for answers.

“This is Bellona Drager,” Agent Hill nominated herself as the spokesperson for the moment, because everyone else was still attempting to believe their eyes. She addressed both James Rhodey and Helen Cho. “Daughter of James and Maria Drager, goddaughter of Howard and Maria Stark — I’m sure you’ve heard of all those people.”

“She’s basically my annoying little sister,” Tony had recovered his tongue; he was now shooting daggers at Bellona but speaking to Rhodey. “And don’t get confused — she’s only three years younger than me.”

“Oh, this is the Bella you’re always complaining about — wait, three years — um, excuse me, no offense Tony, but how?”

“HYDRA experimentation, super-soldier serum, and cryogenic sleep,” she smoothly answered his bumbling question, electing to ignore what he said about Tony’s complaining as well as Helen Cho’s fiercely curious stare. “C’mon, haven’t you been reading what’s trending on the internet these past few years? The whole world knows what I’ve done for HYDRA.”

There was another silence. Tony looked about to explode it but Steve fractured it first. “If you’re in hiding… what are you doing here then?”

“I came for the party,” her lips twisted into a sideways grin, “though it looks like all the fun people have already left.”

“Why are you really here?” Natasha asked, watching Bellona with guarded green eyes; no one came out of hiding just for a party, particularly an Avengers party, and particularly when they were a Soviet-trained ex-HYDRA agent who was believed to be dead until last year.

“Nat, you know me so well,” Bellona’s laugh was slightly strained before she glanced around the room, her eyes finally coming to a rest on Tony Stark. He instantly straightened when her piercing gaze landed on him, a feeling of guilty self-consciousness washing over him, though for what reason he was unaware. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?” He immediately barked, but the look behind his eyes told all. She noted the way Bruce Banner nervously glanced over at Tony and pursed her lips at this potential involvement of the other scientist.

“What you took from that HYDRA base… the alien technology,” she tilted her head to the side and one of her braids swung over her shoulder, dropping against her back in a whip-like movement. “It’s here. I can feel it — you’ve found it. But… what did you  _ do  _ with it?”

“What are you talking about-” Tony's faux confusion was interrupted by a high-pitched screeching noise that threatened to make eardrums bleed and caused the group to collectively flinch .

“What the hell is that?” Clint muttered and the whole room tensed, drawing themselves up into defensive positions. In unison Steve and Tony stepped in front of Bellona Drager as a mangled, broken robot looking like one of Tony Stark’s playthings stumbled into view. 

“How amusing that the Assassin’s Accomplice knows exactly what you did, Tony. She's just like you, contributing to so much death and destruction around the world, and not even knowing. Not even caring. How could any of you be worthy? You’re all killers.”

“Who are you?” Her black dress twirled around her as she jumped out from behind Tony and Steve and glared at the broken robot in front of the group. “How do you know who I am?” At the same time, Steve was snapping at Tony, who was snapping at JARVIS, who was apparently unresponsive. “Reboot Legionnaire OS, we got a buggy suit….”

“It's all been leaked onto the web. Bellona Drager… a name that implies  _ so  _ much…. If you take those bracelets off your wrists, you could kill everyone here in this room with a snap of your fingers. That's too much power for one tiny human to wield….” 

“Who sent you?” Thor interrupted the sinister sounding speech.

There was a stunned silence around the room as Tony Stark’s own voice was suddenly heard being replayed. “I see a suit of armor around the world….”

“Ultron!” Banner eyes flew to Tony, who was still completely baffled by both beings who had walked into the room within the past ten minutes, and why they each had something to do with him.

“In the flesh. Or, no, not yet. Not this… chrysalis. But I'm ready. I'm on a mission.”

“What mission?” Natasha demanded.

Ultron tilted his mangled head towards Bellona Drager as though giving a morbid salute, before turning to stare at Tony Stark. “Peace in our time.” There was a loud buzzing noise before the walls behind Ultron burst and crumbled as multiple other flying robots sprung out of it, charging the group of Avengers.

Everyone scattered, leaping towards their weapons or away from the sudden assault. Steve Rogers lunged forwards, grabbing one of Bellona’s arms and dragging her backwards, pushing her behind him. She was the freshest lead he had on finding his best friend and he’d be damned before he lost it. He also figured Tony would personally murder anyone who let her get hurt.

Next thing Bellona knew, Cap had his shield in his hands and had smashed apart two different robots that had flown towards them. She ducked as another flew at her and she reached down to grasp at one of her bracelets.

“Bella!” Tony shouted over the noise, trying to find the girl he’d spent months searching for and had now voluntarily shown up at his Tower,  albeit apparently for no other reason than to scold him for messing around with alien technology.

“What!?” Her distracted yell back turned into a scream as two robots flew at her, knocking her backwards and sending her flying against the glass windows across the room. She bit her lip on impact and hissed as she fell to the floor, landing hard on her shoulder. She licked blood off her lips as she jumped up to her feet; her eyes roving to spot the next incoming robot. One flew at her immediately. She flung herself forward to meet it, knocking its head back with a sharp punch, the skin on her knuckles tore from the contact with the jagged metal; warm blood began to trickle down onto her palm but it allowed her enough time to tug a bracelet off and thrust out her hand in the robot’s direction. It exploded instantly. 

“Oh dang it!” The eerily electronic voice rang across the room. Bellona whipped her head up to stare at Ultron; she snarled, blood from her bitten lip staining her teeth sinisterly. “Who let her take off her handcuffs?” And three more robots charged her.

“Hope you’re not afraid of heights, war goddess,” Ultron seemed simultaneously amused and annoyed, and she crouched into a defensive stance as the robots approached. Her hands raised in expected assault, whirling in a rhythmic sweeping motion, amassing energy for the attack. But when the robots simply flew past, crashing into the windows behind her, shattering them and themselves as well, she was thrown into utter confusion, failing to comprehend their kamikaze-like attack strategy; she ducked as glass rained down upon her like a biting hailstorm. Her concentration broken, the energy she had been focused on vanished into the chaotic atmosphere with a supersonic whoosh that was audible only to her. Then two other robots turned from where they’d been antagonizing Black Widow, and flew towards the unbalanced girl in the black party dress near the broken windows.

Falling out of the top floor of the Avengers Tower was not Bellona Drager’s plan when she had arrived there. But she supposed she should not have been surprised when Tony’s freak malfunctioning robots quite literally defenestrated her. Being thrown from a window had never been very high on her to-do list, but she mentally checked it off as she plummeted backwards through the window and into the open air. 

However, if Ultron was anything — it was right.

The human brain is fond of cajoling its owner into believing air is nonexistent because it cannot be physically seen — it is merely empty space. Despite science having proven this assumption false, its constant presence is routinely and conveniently forgotten by humanity because it is invisible. But air is matter; matter cannot be created or destroyed, only changed by an input or output of energy. And manipulating pure, raw energy was Bellona Drager’s specialty.

So as she was falling through said empty space, plummeting past the building and down towards the buzzing New York street, she did just that. Feeling the molecules zooming around her, she closed her eyes and focused on them, allowing them to gather around her flailing body, like iron to a magnet. Her body began to slow until she reached a controllable velocity, and then she let herself gracefully drop the remaining distance. She landed on her knees on the sidewalk outside the Avenger’s Tower, having acquired a few minor cuts and bruises; her shoulder, lip, and palm being the worst. Nevertheless, she believed Cap would have been impressed; falling from high places with no pre-prepared means of securing a safe landing was his specialty — and he’d never had to do it in heels. 

Her hair having been tugged out of its braids, she could smell ice and ozone beginning to creep out of her locks and down onto her neck. So before she even rose to her feet, she hastily wiped the blood from her palm and reached up to secure the loosened strands back into their braids. Upon finishing, she slowly rose to her feet and let out a stream of choice expletives. The goddamn Avengers being her central topic of abuse — there was never a normal day around them. 

Bellona glanced back up at the building, where she assumed the battle between the others and the robots had continued, distracting them enough that no one had the time to jump out of the building after her, which would have been foolish, therefore she half expected it.

She let out a sigh, shaking her head to clear the trauma of falling a hundred floors, and glancing around her. The street was relatively empty of pedestrians for New York at two in the morning, but cars were speeding up along, their drivers racing to and from clubs, bars, and parties. There had been however, a group of far-from-sober college students who were across the street when she’d landed and had taken off screaming when she had begun cussing out the Avengers. 

Her time in New York was up. Judging from the pandemonium that had erupted in the Avengers Tower, the place was about to become a journalist’s dream come true, and the media was the last thing she wanted to become embroiled with. She also figured a certain super-soldier across the Atlantic wouldn’t be too thrilled with her exceeding her twenty-four hour time frame. 

Sighing again, she tugged her silver bracelet back onto her wrist, kicked off her pumps, picked them up, and padded barefoot down the neon-illuminated New York street; disappearing once more.


	57. May 3, 2015

“Oh my God,” Bucky Barnes breathed as the door to the tiny apartment in Romania creaked open and in stepped an exhausted looking Bellona Drager. “What the hell happened?”

“Well,” she grimaced, tossing her silver heels, which she had removed a while ago, into the corner behind the door, before reaching up and tugging out one of her long, dark braids. “I missed the party.”

“Why do you look like hell?”

“Oh. I got thrown out a window-”

“What?!”

“-from the topmost floor of I think a hundred story building-”

“WHAT?!”

“-by a bunch of fucking robots.”

“Bells… what the hell?” Bucky Barnes didn’t even know what to think. What she had just uttered had seemed too absurd to have actually happened; he wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to be furious at her or not. “I let you on your own for twenty-four hours and you manage to fuck up that badly?”

“I didn’t fuck up, you’re the one with anger issues, not me,” Bellona retorted, stalking across the apartment and flinging herself onto the mattress, groaning as she landed on her bruises. “Besides, I handled it rather well.”

“You got  _ thrown out a window, _ ” Bucky reminded her with incredible disbelief as he came to sit on the mattress beside her. “And if my ‘anger issues’ are bad, you should see yours when you actually get pissed…. They’re like… worse….”

Bellona snorted at his attempted comparison and he rolled his eyes, irritated that he had failed to find a metaphor fit enough to compare her fits of rage to.

“Did you figure it out though?” He asked curiously after a moment, deciding to temporarily put off interrogating further, seeing as being literally defenestrated only caused her to look vaguely irritated. “What Stark had done?”

“Yeah, it was nothing surprising,” she grunted, tossing off a bracelet to allow cool energy to pool in her palm, which she massaged onto her various bruises and scrapes. “The alien tech. I didn’t figure out what they were doing with it, because then we got attacked by a bunch of psycho… wait….”

“What?” Bucky questioned, reaching his metal arm out to twirl a loose strand of her hair around a silver finger. The icy whiteness that danced through her locks crept over his hand, twirling and spinning over the metal plates, glimmering with metallic sparkles.

“Tony’s murder robots… there was one…. That had to be what Tony did, because it  _ knew  _ me… it knew everything. It called me... the… uh, it called me the Assassin’s Accomplice….” Bucky shifted uncomfortably at the pronunciation of these two words and let her hair slip through his fingers as his arm dropped back down to his side. “That has to be what he did, create that…  _ thing. _ Though I don’t think he knows what he’s done, he seemed just as surprised….” Bellona was rambling to herself at this point as the gears in her mind churned; Bucky kept his eyes on her face, unblinkingly assessing every word out of her mouth. “I don’t know his reasoning, probably something noble, or that’s what he’s telling himself…. He was always one for the dramatic… but that machine was merciless, it attacked everyone….”

“And pushed you out the window,” Bucky’s voice was slow and calculating.

“Well, its little accomplices did that.”

“I like  _ my _ little accomplice better.”

“Did you — was that — are you — don’t  _ flirt  _ with me like that!”

“Sorry,” Bucky smirked to himself, wrapping his metal arm around her shoulders and squeezing softly in the way that made her marvel how his arm also possessed the strength to rip through steel. “You weren’t shutting up.”

“Accomplice my ass,” she muttered darkly, ramming her elbow into his ribs so he sucked in his next breath and hunched over, yet didn’t drop his arm from her shoulder. “You just like the alliteration.”

“Well… yeah I do,” his lips curled upwards into a grin and he teasingly tugged at another loose strand of her hair.

“Keep doing that and your arm is gonna freeze to my shoulders,” she warned him, attempting to turn her head to eye the chilly whiteness creeping around her neck and drifting over his metal arm.

“Only if I don’t do this,” his reply was cheeky as he gathered her tumbling locks and deftly braided them together until the white air and coldness was drawn back into the braid and vanished completely.

“Good job,” her voice only contained a slight layer of sarcasm as his arm flopped possessively back over her shoulders and he seemed immensely pleased with himself. She let him enjoy the moment because there were so few times when he was proud of something he had done.

“You should probably sleep,” Bucky announced after a comfortable moment of silence, “it’s almost midnight and you traveled across multiple time zones. And you look like you fell a hundred flights, which you did, but those time zones really get to you.”

“We both know time zones don’t affect either of us,” Bellona rolled her eyes and slipped out from his arm. Darting across the room towards the backpacks where all the clothes they’d swiped before leaving the States were stored, ready to be easily transported in an emergency; she pulled out her favorite pair of baggy sweatpants and a large tee-shirt.

“That’s mine,” Bucky informed her from across the room, nodding at the tee-shirt in her hands. He’d risen from the mattress and taken the chair before the table, tilting it back casually so only the two back legs remained on the floor.

“Okay,” Bellona’s voice was nonchalant and carefree. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“It should,” he let his chair drop to the floor with a threatening thud and his voice picked up a dangerous undertone. “Maybe I don’t want you wearing it.”

“Then fight me,” she challenged, matching his pugnacious seriousness with as much mischievous gusto. A goading smirk made her eyes flash with frisky audacity.

“I will,” he’d jumped to his feet and was staring her down with a glare that would have inspired a spine-tingling primal fear in any man. But Bellona Drager simply  returned his fabled Winter Stare with a domineering glare of her own, her bright blue eyes sparking with dynamic energy; she slipped into the tiny bathroom, changed from her dusty party dress into the comfortable sweats and Bucky’s tee-shirt, which bagged on her lean frame. Knowing what to expect the moment she exited, she cracked her knuckles, and with a taunting smirk on her face she stepped out.

Bellona was hit by a crushing force immediately, knocking her off her feet; she crashed to the floor, her attacker pinning her down, ensuring her hands were immobile. “Give it back.”

“Give what back?” Her smirk betrayed her innocent tone as she sweetly smiled up a growling Bucky Barnes, well-aware he could see through her falsified saccharine with ease. “I don’t know-” she never intended to finish the statement; she had pulled her legs up, kicking him in vulnerable ribs while throwing herself sideways, rolling away from Bucky, who’d been forced to release her hands and back off. “-what you’re talking about.”

“You can’t lie to me,” he threatened her when they’d both surged up to their feet and glared at each other, only a few short paces between them. He moved first, lunging towards her, but being shorter, she ducked under and around his grasp, landing a light but well-aimed punch to his previously targeted ribs, making him double over from the surprise of the sting. “Who taught you how to punch like that?” His voice was creamed with fabricated flabbergastation and he remained hunched over, pretending to be stunned by the blow.

“You did!” Bellona exclaimed, drawing up straight and crossing her arms into an offended posture, glowering in his direction until she realized her mistake. Her abandonment of her defensive stance meant the super-soldier had her on the ground, arms slammed to her sides in seconds.

“You’re crushing me,” she whined with juvenile annoyance as he utilized his body weight to keep her in place by sitting on top of her.

“You’ll get over it,” he rolled his eyes, “but I don't think I'll ever get over you stealing my clothes.” 

“Correction: I'm borrowing,” Bellona retorted, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp but he held firm. 

“You did not ask for permission, so it's stealing.”

“You like it when I steal your clothes.”

“That's ridiculous, Bells.” 

“You like it because it always ends in a fight like this.”

“I wouldn't exactly call this a fight. You landed one pathetic punch and I’ve won.”

“Last time I gave you a black eye.”

“Last time you stole my plum.”

“You weren't eating it.”

“It was in my hand!” 

“And you still weren't eating it!”

“Why do you like to take what’s mine?”

“Maybe it’s a subconscious reaction because you took away everything that was mine.”

It went from playful banter to analytical nihilism with just one sentence. Both froze, Bucky staring down at Bellona and Bellona staring up at Bucky as the meaning of her statement suddenly and viciously rolled over them. Everything always came back to the Winter Soldier’s kidnapping of Bellona Drager in 1991 whether they meant it to or not. Regret tore through Bellona’s blue eyes for uttering the words; blaming Bucky Barnes for ruining her life was like blaming one's best friend for giving them the flu. It hadn't been intentional, of course, and most definitely happened unknowingly. But it  _ had  _ happened, and they had both suffered from the same cause, one which neither of them possessed any control over. 

“I’m sorry,” Bellona choked the words out, her eyes unable to see anything but the guilt in his own, “it wasn’t you who did all that….”

He stared down at her in silence for a long minute. Neither of the two had moved. Finally he sighed, his face grim as he gazed back down at her, his eyes awhirl with indescribable emotion. “But it was, Bells,” his voice was self-condemning, “it was me.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Bellona’s voice was firm and commanding, bewildering his subconscious because she rarely used such tones when speaking to him. “I’ve known you for almost twenty-five years and it wasn’t until last year that I knew your real name. You’re not the same person who used to tell me we couldn’t stop for coffee when returning from a mission, you’re definitely not the same person who pulled me into a car during my senior year of high school…. I watched-” at this her voice cracked and she gulped, licking her lips with a serpentine flick of her tongue before beginning again. “I watched HYDRA brainwash you for years. I spent years obeying yours and HYDRA’s orders too, I know what it’s like to lack control of your body, your actions, your reality…. I barely remember my life before you tossed me into the back of that car.... But the one thing I do know is that you’ve always had my back, with or without orders.”

He was silent as he gazed down at her. He didn’t have to speak, his eyes said it all. Guilt but gratitude, pain but appreciation, remorse but relief. And something else she couldn't quite identify before he released her arms and rolled off her. He held out a hand, which she took, and he pulled Bellona to her feet. “You know I don’t actually care if you steal my clothes, right?”

Her laugh was like a feline’s purr; fluid and silky. “I know.”

“You should sleep.”

“And you should go over escape route number two again.”

“Why?” His voice rose in panic as he shot her a piercing look. “Do you know something-”

“No, but you’re going to do that anyway.” Bellona crossed the room and dropped downwards onto the mattress, running her fingers over her braids to secure them again while Bucky paced about the room, eyeing all possible entrances and exits and muttering to himself. He triple-checked that the deadbolt was in place on the door, having installed it himself in a fit of paranoia, something about having a five-inches of steel between them and the rest of the world made him sleep better at night — not that any type of lock would matter in a fight concerning them and not that either of them slept very well anyways.

Bellona reluctantly relinquished herself to the clutches of sleep a while later, lulled to drowsiness from watching Bucky lope about the apartment anxiously, spinning her silver bracelets between his hands. The metal clinking of his left hand on the titanium bracelets was soothing white noise to her ears. Occasionally he would hasten towards the table where several of his notebooks lay open; he would scribble something down before whatever he recalled was snatched back into his abyss of buried memories and she would watch him through half-closed lids and wonder what he had just remembered.

It was only an hour after drifting off to sleep when Bellona Drager flew upwards with a scream of horror because electricity was pounding through her body and phantom pains were shooting up and down her arms, chains of metal on her forearms, restricting and inhibitory, sedatives oozing through her bloodstream and-

“Bells!” Bucky had jumped at the screaming girl, his metal arm wrapped around her, preventing her from clawing at her own skin. The air suddenly felt thick and heavy as the smell of ozone permeated the apartment, a buzz of electricity sparking about Bellona’s hands as she began hyperventilating, shaking with terror, her blue eyes unseeing and frightened. “Bells, you’re fine, stop, no one’s hurting you…. Bells,  _ look at me. _ ” He slipped into Russian, and she was forced to look up at him. She felt the familiar clicking in the back of her mind as her eyes met his, and the spasms racking her body began to slow.

There was a loud, thunderous booming sound. It echoed through the building and initiated sudden flashbacks of gunfire, explosions, destruction, death — Bellona flinched, her eyes torn away from Bucky’s, his metal arm whirred quietly as he tightened his grip on her. The bracelets she’d forged from the melted HYDRA metal lay where he’d left them — on the table across the apartment. Too far, he knew; if the electricity zipping through her fingertips were to be any more excited by her emotional trauma, the entire building could be brought down.

“It’s thunder, Bells,” he murmured, picking her chin up with his right hand and forcing her to look at him again, “you need to calm down, or it’ll be worse.” He never did figure out whether the weather affected her emotions or if her emotions affected the weather, but the two were inexplicably linked somehow.

Bellona muttered a string of vulgar Russian curses under her breath — Bucky would have found it funny had the situation been any different — and closed her eyes, clenching her hands into fists. She focused on the huskiness of his voice and the weight of his metal arm around her — the elements disappearing as she did so. Every atom in her body felt as though it were alive and blazing with a fierce energy she could not control, only exhibit. Outside, thunder still loudly showered praise to its electrical accomplice’s display of power, while the Winter Soldier quietly whispered consolations to his own, although the underlying currents in his voice suggested that he was not only trying to relax the trembling girl but reassure himself as well.


	58. May 5, 2015

Bellona Drager knew something world-changing had happened the second it did. She didn’t know how, but the sudden influx of energy that surged through her cells felt too familiar and too sudden. 

She dropped her coffee.

The clear, tall glass she had just popped several ice cubes into shattered to the floor of the Bucharest apartment with an ear-splitting crash. The toffee-colored liquid splattered around her and began creeping along the flat surface of the floor like a faded ichor; tainted blood of the Olympian gods.

“Bells?” Bucky had been expertly pretending to silently brood over one of his notebooks. In fact, he had been watching Bellona stroll around the apartment as she muttered sarcastic insults directed at everyone upon the face of the earth and trying not to give away the fact that he was completely focused on her by slipping up and laughing at something she said. But upon the crash he was at her side immediately. She took no notice of him, rather, her blue eyes were unseeing and hazy, staring into empty space; her muscles tensing and relaxing in turn; her joints locking as bursts of energy seemed to pulse through her with a shuddering intensity.

“Bells?” He repeated her name, reaching forward and gripping her shoulders with his hands to steady her, standing before her to force her to look at him. She gazed up at him blankly, her very cells seemed to beat in response to the energy that was being released somewhere, somewhere…. She didn’t know where. Her breath was coming in quick, raspy gasps that suggested her lungs were struggling against some internal force in a fight for oxygen. 

She was barely aware of Bucky sliding her bracelets onto her wrists before he picked her up like a child and carried her towards the mattress, sitting down on it and gently hugging her, repeating some calming mantra over and over that her leaping brain couldn’t identify. Her focus was completely internal. 

Energy. Power. Matter. Something had happened…. Something…. Something…. It was familiar…. She had experienced this feeling before, of uncontrollable energy zipping through her body, a reaction she could not control to an external event she was ignorant of.

It was hours before her breathing slowed and her hyperventilating state ceased. She was exhausted, as though whatever had occurred had drained her own energy as a result of her reaction to the sudden release of raw power into the atmosphere. 

The moon was still shining serenely through the uncovered windows, creating calming spotted patterns on the floor. Bucky was still attempting to console the shaking girl, she heard him call her name again once he realized she’d relaxed, but her eyelids drooped, her head sank onto his chest and she found herself in the clutches of unconsciousness.

She awoke hours later, just as the sleepy rays of the sun began to yawn and tint the night sky a hallowed pink. Her eyes blinked open and she gauged her surroundings. Bucky’s arms were securely around her, her head on his chest, their legs tangled together. From the steady rise and fall of his ribs, he was sleeping soundly. She blinked again, content to remain motionless as she attempted to make sense of what had happened last night. From the amount of energy rattling through her, she thought something world-changing had occurred, but it didn’t seem like the world had ended. The sun was beginning to paint the sky its daytime hue; somewhere birds were chirping in golden merriment. In the city streets below, the bustle of early morning activity could be heard, horns honking, people chattering, cars speeding through the narrow streets. The globe still revolved on its axis. But it was changed… somehow…. The feeling had been so familiar, she was irked by the fact that she was struggling to remember having experienced it before. The roadblock that was HYDRA brainwashing was flashing in the middle of her mind, preventing her from properly recalling why the sensation had overwhelmed her with déjà vu and left her with a lingering impression of the Avengers.

Irritated by her inability to make connections, she tried to shift in Bucky’s iron grip, but failed massively. His metal arm was not to be contested against, and she lacked leverage. Growing slightly angry, slightly stiff, and a great deal more so anxious because she  _ had  _ to know what had happened in the world, she squirmed in his arms, attempting to wrench his nonmetal right arm from its firm hold around her lower abdomen. The only result was for Bucky to stir in his sleep, and his metal arm to tighten in instinctive reaction to her movement. She grumbled under her breath and twisted, glaring up at him. She wouldn’t have bothered had she not been wracked with anxiety; his hair was falling softly across his face and he looked almost peaceful, if not for the crease of worry still etched across his forehead.

“Bucky! Wake up!” She hissed up at him, groaning when the only reaction her aggravated actions received was his metal arm clicking and whirring quietly as it tightened around her. “Bucky! James Buchanan Barnes!  _ Winter _ !”

Either gradual descent into Russian woke him, or he remained asleep and muttered a reply subconsciously. “Shut up, Bells.” Either way, his eyes failed to open and neither did his grip loosen.

“Let go of me.”

No response and no reaction.

“Bucky! Let go of me!”

“Shut up.” She was positive he was awake now.

“Then let go of me!”

“You kept me up for hours, so shut up.”

“It’s after noon.”

“Liar, it’s five in the morning.”

“You haven’t even opened your eyes.”

“Shut up.”

“Only if you let go of me.”

“No.” She didn’t think it was possible for his grip to further tighten.

“You’re literally… choking me…. I can’t… b-br-breathe….” The effect was immediate, his eyes burst open and his grip alleviated enough for her to shift and stretch out her stiffened joints.

“You’re full of shit,” Bucky mumbled upon realizing she had only wanted a reaction. His arms contracted again before she could weasel entirely away from him. “What happened to you last night?”

“I don’t know….” She admitted quietly, letting her head slump back down against his chest, directly over where his metal arm joined his flesh.

He rested his chin atop her head so she wouldn’t spot the concerned curiosity in his eyes. “You froze up, and were staring off at something that wasn’t there…. I’ve never seen you react like that…. You wouldn’t respond to anything….”

“Something happened,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut and concentrating, recalling the pulsing energy that she had experienced last night. For a brief second she thought she was sensing it again, but she soon realized she was only picking up on Bucky’s steady heartbeat, slightly faster than a normal human being’s, but relatively low due to his relaxed state. “We need to get a newspaper,” she announced, opening her eyes and turning so she could look at him. She felt a slight increase in his pounding heart when his now troubled blue eyes met hers. “It’s too dangerous to use technology…. But whatever happened has got to be front page news.”

“Okay,” he agreed, “We’ll get one later.”

“No,” her voice was slightly whiny, “I want to find out  _ now. _ ”

“Bells,” he rolled his eyes and looked down at her. “You barely have the energy to move right now.”

Bellona made an offended noise and pulled her hand from his grasp, raising it and attempting to manipulate the air molecules before her to reflect back on her. After a moment of nothing, she let her hand drop, because she realized the bracelets had been clasped around her wrists the entire time and she hadn’t even noticed. “Stupid…. Is that why it was so hard to get  _ you  _ to move?”

“Yeah. And you kept me up all night having epileptic seizures, so go back to sleep.”

“Fine.”

 

When she awoke again, darkness had descended around the city, and the now waning moon was once again glinting through the windows. Bucky’s arms were still enclosed around her, and it seemed his grip had refused to slacken the entire time. She flicked her eyes up to spot him staring down at her with his own tumultuous blue eyes, swirling with emotions she couldn’t identify.

“You’re awake,” she could feel the vibrations of his voice run through his chest, “how do you feel?”

“I know I’m awake,” she replied, turning her head to better look at him. “Mind not suffocating me? I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He stared vacantly at her for a moment, as though not processing her request, before loosening his arms, allowing her to wriggle a hand free to brush the tumbling strands of hair out of her face. Her fingers cracked with static electricity as she did so.

“I can still barely move,” she grumbled, and his grip lessened further. She rolled over so her head was no longer on his chest, but dropped onto the blanket beside him. His metal arm flexed immediately in response to her motions, so her shoulders rested on his upper bicep and his arm curled around her, preventing her from rolling away further. He turned sideways to keep her fully in his line of vision.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Which was?”

“How do you feel?”

“Oh. Better... I still don’t know what happened, though. Did you get a newspaper?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Go out and leave you? You could have leveled the city.”

“I was sleeping,” she glared at him before allowing her eyes to drift upwards towards the ceiling, a ponderous look dawning upon her face.

“What?” Bucky did not like the expression she was wearing at all.

“I think… I think I have to go back to the States for a bit.”

“What? Why do we have to do that?” His voice was anxious, his gaze flicking to the door, then the windows, before returning to stare down into her disquieted blue eyes.

He watched her eyelids flutter to a close as she sighed. “I said _ I _ , not we.”

His ultramarine eyes widened at her words, his lips parting in surprise as he stared down at her, his mind jumping past astonishment, straight to stunned emptiness at her words, as though she had just mentioned she was seriously contemplating suicide. “No.”

She snapped her eyes open and peeked up at him, pleadingly. “Bucky-”

“Why do you even want to?”

“To find out what happened!” She could guess well enough that what Tony Stark had done a few days ago was heavily implicated in whatever had happened, and it was likely the rest of the Avengers were involved. Cleaning up the mess, of course. Because anything that releases that much energy causes nothing but disaster. And disasters were the Avengers specialty.

“Isn’t getting a newspaper enough?”

“There are things the papers won’t report….” Her smile was grim as she watched his eyes begin to swirl with frenzy in his attempt to find reasons why she shouldn’t leave the country. “I only need a few days. It won’t take long, it’ll be-”

“Bells,  _ no.  _ We already went a few days ago. It’s not worth it to go again.” She found that his eyes had begun to blaze with a desperate dominance that suppressed any attempted recalcitrance; his voice gained the authority of a strict military officer giving commands to a subordinate that seemed to echo back to their HYDRA days. She had to force her eyes shut before her mind could click into instant obedience. 

“Okay,” she choked the word out, her eyelids remained securely closed, but the searing image of his imploring blue eyes was burned onto them, and it felt like she was rebelling against twenty-four years of HYDRA conditioning when she clenched her teeth around the lie. “You're right. It's not worth it, I won't go.”


	59. May 30, 2015

She felt bad leaving him of course. Atop of her condemning guilt, there was a constant conflict with the buzzing in the back of her brain, like fighting an internal battle against her own mind. She was almost overwhelmed by a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach as she surrounded the apartment with a high energy air ward once he had finally descended into sleep while in the middle of scrawling memories into a notebook. No one would be able to get in — or out. She only planned to be gone for a few days; the apartment was well-stocked with food and supplies, and she knew he would be more apt to forgive her for locking him in the apartment than forgive himself if he blew their cover and did something regrettable while attempting to follow her. He would be fine, she hoped. 

It was easy after she closed the door behind her, shutting him into an invisible, unplottable, untraceable bubble. Once she was away from his dominating presence, the ticking in the back of her mind that was HYDRA’s way of telling her she was — indirectly at least — disobeying the Winter Soldier was dulled and it was of little difficulty to squash her uneasiness and focus on her reason for the journey. 

The newspapers had spoken of an entire city flying through the air, and crashing to the earth. The Avengers coming to save the day. But there was something more, something beyond the fabulous headlines that were mostly void of actual fact and more full of fluff glorifying or condemning the group of superheroes. She had to find out the truth. 


	60. May 31, 2015

Wanda Maximoff froze. Her glass of orange juice inches from her mouth, her eyes found themselves drawn to the entrance of the room where she sat, along with Vision, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson, in the new Avengers Compound in upper New York state. The group was still in recovery mode after the Sokovia incident, particularly herself with the death of her twin, and eating breakfast together had become a daily ritual with the group of Avengers. It was effective team bonding. 

She  _ felt  _ someone. With her powers. Her sight was betraying her enhanced abilities however — there was evidently no one else in the room. But she could detect a presence, whoever or whatever it was. Curious, she mentally reached out towards what she had felt and brushed against the presence. And she cringed back in horror — it was like opening a door to have a demon jump into your face, the magnitude of bubbling terror and silent suffering that was boiling behind the invisible figure. But her eyes still claimed there was nothing to be seen. 

She had placed her glass down on the polished wooden table and was intently staring across the room now. Barely aware of Vision’s eyes roving towards her inquisitively; Sam, Steve, and Natasha were engrossed in a conversation amongst themselves, unaware of Wanda’s perplexed state.

Intrigued, she let tendrils of red power swirl around her fingertips before ushering them across the room where she sensed the pained presence, to further probe into the mystery. 

And then the room was filled with agonized screaming.

Reactions were instantaneous. Wanda tumbled from her seat with a gasp as a greater extent of the anguish that seethed within the presence impacted her, washing over her and threatening to drown her with its intensity. Vision leapt to her side in worry. Natasha jumped from her seat, whipping out a handgun in the process and aiming it at the screams. Steve and Sam flew to their feet in unison, staring across the room where the traumatized figure of Bellona Drager appeared on the floor before them, on her hands and knees and screaming in response to Wanda Maximoff’s powers seeping into her mind.

“STOP!” She shrieked, shaking her head violently and pounding a hand on the floor as though to beat away the red energy that had penetrated the darkest places of her mind. “STOP!”

“Wanda!” Steve shouted, realizing what must have occurred, and snapping his head around to look at the Maximoff girl, who was too paralyzed by Bellona Drager’s own fear to counter her energy. Until Vision gently shook her by the shoulder, snapping her out of the trance. She hesitantly reached a hand up, withdrawing the energy she’d ushered across the room towards what had been an unseen presence only a few moments ago.

Bellona Drager slumped backwards onto the floor, resting her elbows on her knees and clutching her head in her hands as though to massage her temples. Steve, Sam, and Natasha flew across the room instantly.

“Bella!” Steve exclaimed, dropping down beside her, “what are you doing here?”

“How did you get in?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“Where have you been?” Natasha demanded harshly. 

“Stop!” She begged again, holding her hands up in supplication. “Everyone shut up! What the hell just happened to me?”

“It was me,” Wanda had approached the group huddled around the girl. “I apologize. I sensed your presence but did not see you enter the room. I was... curious.”

“Who’s she?” Bellona shot a brief look at the other girl with a heavy accent before she turned to Steve and the others.

“This is Wanda Maximoff,” Steve introduced the two, “she’s… gifted. Kind of like you, but-”

“We were experimented on. My... twin and I,” Wanda cut into the explanation, able to keep her voice controlled when speaking of her brother because she was intent on studying the girl before her, wondering why her bright blue eyes held so much suffering. “HYDRA gave us powers,” she held up a few fingers and red sparks jumped between them. “I could sense your…  _ fear. _ ”

Bellona Drager stared at Wanda Maximoff for a long moment, not speaking a word. When she finally did, her eyes had grown cold and judgmental. “You let HYDRA experiment on you.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Wanda’s reply was slow and halting, still ignorant of who the girl was; she looked about her own age but simultaneously older, as though she had seen much more of the world than the native Sokovian.

“ _ Why _ ?” The demand was harsh and biting, making Wanda flinch and reminding everyone in the room who knew it of Bellona Drager’s past and legacy.

Natasha Romanoff cleared her throat. “Bella, why don’t you tell us why you’re here.”

Wanda raised a hand to interrupt, demanding of the blue-eyed girl on the floor. “Who are you?”

“Bellona Drager,” her braids shivered as she spat the two words before the Maximoff, who took a step back at the mention of the name, her eyes growing frighteningly wide. “Former HYDRA weapon turned fugitive. I’ve killed more people than I dare to count and have no problem adding another to that list if you decide to pull your little magic trick-”

“Whoa,” Steve placed a firm hand on her shoulder, “Bella, relax. It was an accident. You were invisible.”

“And for good reason too,” she scowled, and her eyes flicked towards the other latest addition to the Avengers. “Who, or what, is that?”

“I am Vision-”

She screamed again, recognizing the voice. “Jarvis!?”

“Jarvis assisted in creating me,” the gold and red figure elucidated, “along with Thor and Mr. Stark, I was created to help take down Ultron.”

Bellona stared at him for a moment before shaking her head in disbelief. It was getting so absurd she was almost regretting leaving Romania. Then she raised a hand and pointed a finger at his forehead. “What… what is that?” The yellow gemstone seemed to glow a bit brighter under her fierce gaze.

“An infinity stone,” came the answer. “One of six of the most powerful forces in the universe.”

At this, Bellona turned and looked up at Natasha, Steve, and Sam as if irritated by every word spoken to her from Vision. She rubbed the pale scar on her neck in annoyance, feeling an unsettling tingle in her throat. “You three have a lot of explaining to do.”

 

She joined them around their breakfast table, a full plate of food before her as she listened to their account of the events relating to Ultron and his plans for the destruction of earth and the human race. Ultron, evidently, had been the autonomous robot that had pushed her off the top floor of the Avengers Tower in New York City. She was pleased to hear he’d been destroyed, and didn’t find his “death to mankind” plan all that unique.

“How did you know all this happened, Bella?” Natasha asked after the story had been told. “And where have you been?”

“I knew something had happened, before it was in the papers about Sokovia becoming an urban asteroid. I don’t know how, I just  _ knew _ . It was similar to something that had happened before… I think… when Thor almost annihilated the world when the realms aligned. It was like that….”

This explanation was met by a few frowns of confusion and complete bewilderment by those around the table who had no idea what she was speaking of. Bellona didn’t bother to elaborate. 

“And I’m in hiding, Nat,” her blue eyes were cool as she continued, “I can’t tell you where I’ve been. I only came to find out what happened. Where’s Tony?”

“No idea,” the redhead replied, looking annoyed at Bellona’s vague explanation. “Doing whatever Tony Stark does, I suppose.”

“Do  _ not  _ let him know I was here,” the fugitive said, knowing full well they would inform him as soon as they could.

“Do you know what he’s done trying to look for you?” Sam leaned forward onto the table. “I’m surprised he hasn’t physically torn apart cities.”

“Do you know what  _ we’ve _ done, trying to look for you?” Steve repeated, and from the emphasis on his words, the last word he spoke was meant to be in the plural tense.

Bellona gave them a weak smile. “Yes, I know. But didn’t you see the terror in your little Scarlet Witch’s face when I pronounced my name? It’s nothing personal, Wanda, but I don’t need HYDRA to give me powers to know you knew exactly who I am and what I’ve done when I said my name. Everyone on the planet is going to react like that to me. Is there a bounty on my head? Is the government clamoring for my immediate arrest? Have you all been interrogated about my whereabouts?”

“Bella, no one knows where you are,” Natasha said with a sigh, “no one knows where you’ve been. Yes, all the info about you and… others… became public when S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, but do you know how much intelligence there was? The government isn’t exactly sorting through it and focusing on you. Most of its encrypted. Only someone with a lot of time and patience would bother.”

“Besides,” Sam added, “we’ve caused a bit of a mess in Sokovia that everyone’s having a field day over at the moment.”

Bellona shook her head, “it’s still best for us — for me, to be off the grid. Besides, I don’t fit into your world of superheroes…. Heroes sit here eating waffles in Tony’s Avengers Compound and cry about the lives you accidentally lost while trying to save the world. Heroes are born. But weapons are built.... HYDRA didn’t manufacture heroes. Only weapons. And weapons don’t realize what they’ve done until they’re no longer being used.”

In a movement that shocked everyone, Wanda Maximoff reached across the table and took Bellona Drager’s hand in hers, squeezing it sympathetically. “Bellona, I am not a hero. I let HYDRA experiment on me, to give me powers. I chose that, not out of courage and bravery, but out of anger and vengeance. You did not get to choose, and that is the true sin…. I heard about you while I was with HYDRA…. You were more than a legend…. But HYDRA is behind both of us now, we must move on and do what we can to put the past behind us…. It’s the only way to save yourself.”

Bellona stared at the Scarlet Witch for a moment that outlasted the prior one. It was a look of astonishment, scepticism, and dark amusement. Eventually, she shook her head and pulled her hand away from the other girl’s reassuring grasp. “You’re right.  _ You  _ chose. I didn’t. But HYDRA only gave you some magic powers, while they engineered my entire existence. Maybe I can move on from it….” her voice paused as she tugged on the metal bracelet encircling her left wrist, removing it to reveal the glaring brands of the HYDRA head and Soviet star on her flesh. Wanda’s eyes widened with revolted shock upon spotting the leering marks. “But HYDRA will never be behind me.”


	61. June 1, 2015

“You don't remember it, do you?”

Bellona Drager turned to find Natasha Romanoff standing a few paces down the hallway, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest with a defensive ease. The brunette frowned, tilting her head slightly to the side as she studied the redhead. The assassin had evidently followed her in her final retreat from the common area of the Compound to the guest bedroom Bellona had claimed for the night, though she hadn't heard a noise. Only an assassin could sneak up on another assassin, especially in a silent Avengers Compound and particularly when both assassins were Soviet-trained, at a little before two in the morning. 

“Remember what?” Bellona inquired, assuming Natasha's position of leaning up against the wall with her arms crossed. 

“The Red Room. Training….” her voice trailed off for a moment before gaining strength again. She raised her head and looked deeply into Bellona’s metallic eyes. “Training me.”

“What?” The Drager girl almost slipped off the wall from shock. Frowning, she stared at the Russian as though trying to see the past through her. “Training  _ you _ ? I didn't train you. I didn't train anyone. Winter, I mean, Barnes might've, but-”

“He did. You did. You both did, Bella.” 

“How… how do you know?”

“Remember back in 2012, after we brought you to the Tower? You asked me where I was trained. I told you. You asked you if we’d met. You said it wasn't likely, but no one would remember anyways. Well... I remembered.”

“Oh….” Bellona murmured, dropping her gaze to the plush carpet floor of the hallway before raising her eyes to meet Natasha’s. “I don't.”

There was a moment of silence as both women stared at each other, one recalling the look in the eyes of the silly girl who reached out to grab Bellona Drager's braid as she froze to death, the other facing a yawning void of nothing as she struggled to comprehend Natasha Romanoff’s words. 

“I didn't expect you to,” both picked up on the hint of disappointment running through her tone, making Bellona flinch slightly and Natasha regret not controlling her emotions further. 

“Look Nat, I'm… I don't know, do you want me to apologize? I guess that's the least I can do….”

“No,” Natasha shook her head, her face an unreadable mask. “Don't apologize for something you had no control over. That wasn't you. It was what HYDRA and the Soviets made you do. They made Bellona Drager a ruthless killing machine. The Bellona Drager we pulled from cryo has terrible PTSD, drinks morbid amounts of coffee, and always has something irreverent to say.”

“So… what does that make me now then?” 

“It makes you what  _ you  _ choose to be now.”

Bellona Drager stared at Natalia Alianovna Romanova, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before her blue eyes hardened, becoming the divine metal that haunted the Widow’s memories. When she spoke at last, her voice was low and near to cracking. “But… Nat… what if… what if it's not up to  _ me _ to choose?”


	62. June 1, 2015

“Morning, Bella,” Steve Rogers greeted her as she padded down into the kitchen of the Avengers Compound, having claimed one of the spare guest rooms for what had been a decidedly sleepless night. 

“Morning Steve, Sam,” she grinned at the pair sitting around the island picking at platters of waffles and sausages before them. They were silent as she slid onto one of the tall swivel stools and helped herself to the food, after making sure the coffee pot was on and brewing. 

“I know you guys want to talk,” she said bluntly as the two quietly watched the girl pour syrup over a plate full of waffles and dig in. “So spit it out. What do you want to know?”

“How you know we want to talk to you so bad?” Sam coughed, spluttering on his orange juice, taken aback by Bellona’s effrontery. 

“Why else would you be sitting in here waiting for me to come down?”

“Maybe we’re just eating breakfast.”

“Sam, your plate has been empty for at least twenty minutes.”

“Okay, Bella,” Steve jumped in as Sam began to mutter about ruthless assassin observation skills. “We have been waiting for you. But only for a bit.”

“Knew it,” she waved her fork through the air dramatically and looked at Cap expectantly.

Steve paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath before beginning. “Well… where've you been?” 

A sly smirk grew on Bellona’s face as she gazed directly into Cap’s eyes. “That's not what you really want to know, is it?” 

“It's one of the things I want to know.”

“I’ve been around. The U.S. Europe. Asia. Africa.”

“You haven't been in Africa,” Sam piped up, giving her a stern look.

“Maybe not,” she raised an eyebrow in amusement and turned her eyes back to Steve, goading him to ask his burning question.

“Bella… are you… have you been with… with Bucky?”

“Your old war pal?” She smiled slightly, dropping from the island stool and trotting across the room to the coffeemaker. She took her time pouring the steaming liquid into a mug and adding cream, sugar, and then ice to her liking. 

“Yeah,” Steve muttered, confused by her casualness as she carried the mug back to where she was sitting. 

“Well?” Sam cleared his throat when Bellona hadn't uttered another word since taking a sip from the coffee. 

“Oh… yes,” she nodded at Cap with a finality as though she'd answered all his questions entirely.

“You met up with him after?” Steve pushed further. 

“Yes.”

“Have you been in hiding with him?”

“Yes.”

“Recently?”

“Yes.”

“Did you come here alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where's Bucky now then?”

“Where I left him.”

“Where is that?”

“Not sure.”

“Yes you are.”

“Maybe I am.”

“So where is he?”

“With me.”

“Not right now.”

“That's correct.”

“Bella,” Steve sighed, annoyed by the sparks that danced in the blue eyes above Tony Stark’s own personalized coffee cup that spelled out “GENIUS” in bold font. “You can tell us. We’re not trying to hunt you down and bring you back to HYDRA. We’re trying to help you. Both of you.”

“So is Tony,” Sam added, his eyes on the girl before them. “He's driving himself insane looking for you, Bella. At least humor the guy and tell him you're here.” 

“I've a feeling Natasha already told him that,” Steve announced, his face a mask. “She's been searching for you two as well. Says she has her own reasons.”

“I know,” Bellona sighed, lowering her coffee to the island top before her. She gnawed at her lower lip pensively. “I talked to Nat… We... nevermind — what time should we expect dear Tony to arrive?”

“Probably very soon,” Sam declared, and as if in support of this claim, two phones buzzed, slicing through the strained atmosphere between them. Steve and Sam exchanged a quick glance between themselves, before both pulling out their cell phones. 

“It's Romanoff,” Sam said, studying the glowing screen. “Stark volunteered himself to be your reception party.”

  
  


*******

  
  


There was only one person who could make Tony Stark as furious as he was now. 

Bellona Drager. 

It was like her sole objective to piss him off. He couldn't believe it. A few days after leaving Cap and Romanoff at the new Avengers Compound, who calls him but Natasha Romanoff herself to inform him of someone very special showing up at the Compound, practically the same day he left it.  _ Bellona-effing-Drager _ .

“Where is she?” He demanded uncouthly upon striding into the Compound and meeting a stoic-faced Natasha Romanoff who crossed her arms immediately as she came to stand before him.

“With Steve,” Romanoff replied coolly, adopting a defensive stance against the millionaire that did nothing but vex him further.

“Why is she with Rogers?” He snapped in annoyance. It was like Bella would rather be with everyone except him; what did the star-spangled senior citizen have on  _ him  _ — Tony Stark, whom Bella grew up beside and known for much longer.

“They're eating breakfast.”

“Why’s she eating breakfast with him? Are you insinuating that they got a thing going or something? What’s her deal with the Greatest Generation?”

“It's seven in the morning. People eat breakfast at seven in the morning.”

“She can eat breakfast with  _ Captain America _ at seven in the morning but she can't call  _ me  _ and tell me she's at the new Avengers Compound that  _ I _ refurbished from one of  _ her godfather’s _ old storage facilities?”

“Relax, Stark.”

“You know what? No, I won't relax. This is absurd. Who does she think she is? Does she know I had the Cleveland Airport on lockdown looking for her? Does she know I searched all of New York City after she fell from the top floor of the Tower? Does she know I thought she was dead? Does she know-”

“My God, Tony, will you shut up?” He turned to find the object of his abuse strolling towards him with an easy swagger, accompanied by Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, both of whom weren't entirely sure how they ought to be reacting — to humor Tony or to find him humorous.

“You!” Tony barked, noticing with further irritation that she was carrying his own coffee mug and taking a teasing sip from it. “Where have you been and what have you been doing?”

“I appreciate you cutting to the chase-”

“Just tell him, Bella,” Steve interjected, shooting her a pleading look which caused her to roll her eyes but comply nevertheless. 

“I've been off the grid. You know that. And I've been staying off the grid, only coming back when you idiots caused the world to almost end. I heard about Ultron. Giant meteor? Not as clever as he thought.”

“The last time I saw you,” Tony’s voice had dropped dramatically as he stabbed an accusing finger her way. “You were  _ falling from the top floor of my Tower. _ ”

“Ah, yes, I remember that fun little joyride through space-”

“YOU FELL FROM THE TOP FLOOR OF MY TOWER!”

“AND I STAND BEFORE YOU TODAY TO TELL THE TALE.”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO WRITE YOUR OBITUARY — AGAIN! DO YOU KNOW WHAT MY PARENTS WOULD HAVE THOUGHT? DO YOU KNOW WHAT  _ YOUR  _ PARENTS WOULD HAVE THOUGHT? ”

“I’M NOT THAT EASY TO KILL, TONY. TRUST ME, I KNOW MORE THAN ANYONE.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?”

“IT MEANS I KNOW BECAUSE I’VE TRIED IT MYSELF AND FAILED.”

Tony Stark stepped back in sheer astonishment as her statement washed over him. His face dropped, his flaming anger suddenly dissipated like smoke blown away from the torrential force of her words, and he stared in blank horror at the girl before him. The fact that she would even dare to attempt to take her own life was almost as appalling as the fact that she sounded almost remorseful for having failed to do so. 

Bellona was quivering slightly as she glared at him, her posture stick-straight, one of her hands was balled into a trembling fist, the other had unconsciously flown to rest upon her lower right side, as though clutching at an injury. The others around the room were reacting no better. Steve was giving Bellona a stunned look, his blue eyes frozen in horror, while Sam was looking sympathetically scandalized; his mouth open slightly as his head snapped to stare at Tony Stark. Natasha’s jaw had slackened and her eyes were wide, but the assassin’s face was otherwise vacant.

“You found me in cryostasis, Tony,” Bellona’s voice had grown small and her fury slowly evaporated upon seeing the reactions her statement catalyzed. “Why did you think HYDRA put me there?”


	63. December 16, 2000

She bit her lip. Hard. Under her mask, she sucked the salty blood off her lips and swallowed nervously. Her mind was clear, clearer than it had ever been before. She couldn't give away her preplanned actions by acting unlike her usual confident self. But she doubted the Soldier would notice; his trust in her was absolute, her mask concealed her facial expressions, all she had to do was not look him in the eye. She had figured that much out by now, along with the fact that noncompliance was usually followed by pain.

“Three sniper positions surrounding the area,” the Soldier briefed her in a low voice from where they crouched behind a copse of trees in the thick woods, just outside the perimeter of the top-secret research complex in the middle of the dry, rocky woods somewhere in Southeastern Europe. She wasn't exactly sure what country they were in, only that the mission was to get into the research facility and take out one of the top nuclear scientists. 

“Electrified fences surrounding the entire perimeter,” the Soldier continued, tracing the outline on the map he clutched, “guards at the gate.”

She nodded along, looking up from the map and leaning around the trees to peer through the dense brush where the camouflaged facility was hidden. 

“I'll get the snipers,” he tucked the map away and popped a fresh round into his lightweight sniper rifle, “you distract them, have an air ward up and run towards the facility, I'll take them out, and you get that fence-” he was interrupted by a barrage of bullets that pounded into the tree they were behind, sending wood chips flying through the air around them. Both jumped forward in response, leaping upwards, the Soldier grabbed the smaller girl, pushing her up against the tree; he stood over her, leaning slightly around the thick trunk to eye the snipers.

“Looks like our positions been given away,” she stated the obvious, “we waited too long planning.”

“Follow the plan,” he muttered back, “I've got eyes on both snipers, the third will show himself eventually.”

“Alright,” she murmured, and he stepped away, allowing her to dart out from behind the tree. “Which one are you taking out first?”

“Why do you need to know that?” He barked as he lunged across to take position behind the neighboring tree. “Just get to the fence.”

“Just tell me!” She screamed as another round of bullets peppered their surroundings. 

For a moment there was a surreal silence as the bullets paused and the Soldier turned to look at the girl with the long braid and flashing eyes. She had never screamed like that on a mission. For the first time, she was grateful her mask hid her pained, agonized expression. Usually she was cool, collected, and adaptable on a mission. Her eyes avoided his at all costs; she stared through the woods, trying to spot the snipers though she could feel the burn of his gaze as though he was holding a match to her bare skin.

“Two o’clock,” he finally said, turning away from her to look into his scope at the target. 

“Good,” she said victoriously, and then dashed out from behind the tree and forwards. 

What happened next was silent, calm, and all at once. 

The Soldier had locked on the opposing targeted sniper and pulled the trigger, and Bellona ran to the right, instead of straight, and the bullet impacted her with a dull, almost inaudible crack that seemed to echo through the woods around them. To the Soldier, however, it was deafening, like an earthquake had struck their very spot with the sound of an atomic explosion. To Bellona, it felt like a shock wave had hit her, her body crumbled downwards as she felt bone shatter and blood begin to flow and clot around the wound. The Soldier watched in utter astonishment as she collapsed to the ground with an irritated scream; she sounded more angry than injured.

Her name was on his lips as the sniper rifle grew heavy in his hands and it clattered to the ground with a guilty thud. He hadn’t even risen to his feet before she shifted her weight to her left side, dug her hands into the ground and pulled herself upwards, rising to her full height, although shaking quite a bit and nursing her right side, where the bullet had struck. He watched in utter horror as she slowly took a step forward, trembling as weight came down on her wound and her knee threatened to give out from the injury to her right hip. Then came another volley of bullets, and he realized what she was attempting when he spotted a single bullet skim the side of her neck and mar her pale skin with sticky scarlet. 

He was on his feet and running towards her in an instant, forgetting his weapon, forgetting their mission, forgetting that there were two snipers with sub-machine guns firing on them and a third with a location that had yet to be determined. She had fallen by the time he got to where she’d hobbled and hopped down the rocky slope towards the nuclear facility. There were rips and tears all over her black combat suit, but the worst bleeding seemed to be coming from her lower abdomen and the side of her neck. Everything else was merely a graze.

He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes. She yelled at him in protest, demanding he leave her there in the line of fire, but soon descended into a cacophony of coughs and splutters as her mouth filled with blood.

He ran. He ran until he couldn’t hear the sniper fire and the trees grew so thick he was forced to slow to a walk lest he collide with a trunk. He stopped before a large oak tree with a girth about three feet across and laid the bleeding, wounded girl under it.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He snarled at her, ripping off his mask as he scrutinized her wounds in the dying light.

She reached up a hand to tug off her own mask. Her eyes were screaming with anguish and her mouth twisted into a disappointed grimace.“Hell,” after spitting out a mouthful of blood, her Russian was slurred and saturated. “That was supposed to work.”

“ _ What _ was supposed to work?” He barked at her, pulling random pieces of cloth that she didn’t know he even carried on him out from one of his many pockets and tearing them up into make-shift bandages.

“Getting shot,” she hacked out more blood; it stained her teeth a heinous pink and darkened her lips to sanguineous maroon.

“Down,” he ordered, pushing her back as she attempted to rise. He dabbed at the blood seeping out of her neck wound and held the bandages there, to stem the bleeding. Bellona shook her head frantically, which aggravated the wound further. She reached forward and seized the small pistol that was holstered at the Soldier’s thigh. It took her just seconds to have it loaded and cocked to shoot.

“Stop,” the Soldier commanded, trying to snatch the pistol from her grasp. Instead she forced it into his hand, pressed his finger to the trigger and dropped back to the ground, staring up into the dark barrel of the gun whose gaping maw seemed to ridicule her. 

“Do it.”

He gazed down at her, frozen for a millisecond before he tossed the pistol to the side. It hit the trunk of the tree with a metal thunk and lay harmless on the dirt and grass just inches away.

“No!” She howled, struggling to rise while wiping more blood away from her mouth, “I’m done! I want out! There’s no other way-”

“Shut up, Bells!” The Soldier grasped her shoulder and forced her to the ground, momentarily ignoring her injuries. “We need-”

“Just do it, please!” She moaned, clutching at his arm, “I’m begging you,  _ please! _ ” She stared up into the Winter Soldier’s blank blue eyes, her own eyes pleading, begging, imploring with an earnest he had never seen in her before. There was a roaring silence as she clutched the straps of his combat outfit, gazing up at him with pained desperation and he stared down at her, still holding cloth to her wounds to slow the bleeding; his eyes flicking between each of hers in such rapid succession, she failed to note the brief explosion of emotion that broke through his vapid gaze.

“No,” he said at last, shaking his head and breaking her distraught grip on him. He pushed her back down to the earth and began tying the cloth around her neck, then switched over to the greater injury, which he had inflicted accidentally. His bullet had torn through her skin and shattered the ball and socket of her hip, blood was racing out at a threatening pace, though already the wound seemed to have initiated the healing process. He ignored her distressed groan and continued begging of him to take her life, and quickly wound the rest of the cloth bandage around her hip and thigh; there was nothing he could do about the shattered bones.

“ _ Winter _ !” She implored as blood caked her lips and murmured her speech, “ _ please.” _

“No, Bells,” he firmly replied, snapping the discarded pistol into its holster before reaching down and carefully picking her up, this time with her legs under one arm and her back against his other, metal arm.

“Why,” she coughed, “why not, I want out, I want-”

“I can’t,” he told her strictly.

“You can kill  _ anyone else _ -”

“I can’t kill you.”

“Is it because they don’t want you to kill me, because they trained us to act together, because-”

“Because  _ I  _ can’t kill  _ you. _ ”

She was silent, blood slowly and insidiously dripping from her lips, trickling down to her neck, where it pooled over the pale birthmark that rested in the hollow of her throat. She gazed up at him as he fled through the forest with her in his arms, thundering around trees and vaulting boulders in his path, and realized for the first time that his eyes were more than just two vacant seas of blue.


	64. June 2, 2015

“Where are you going?”

She stopped and let out a quiet, solemn sigh. Sneaking out of the Avengers Compound had turned out to be harder than the former assassin believed. And it was almost insulting to her skillset that she had been caught by none other than the Falcon, not Iron Man and all his tech, or Black Widow, or the Scarlet Witch, or even Vision, who still skeeved her out. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the glowing stone on his forehead and the fact that his voice sounded like JARVIS made her nauseous.

“Can you guess?”

“Back to wherever you came from, I assume,” Sam Wilson’s voice was casual as he slunk out of the shadows and towards Bellona Drager. She was just a few paces from one of the back exits of the Compound, her backpack slung over her shoulder, clad in all black and grasping one of her bracelets. The Compound had no security yet, other than the cameras, which Sam assumed she was about to either take out or turn invisible. 

“Yeah,” Bellona replied simply.

“With Barnes?” Sam queried coolly, coming to stand before her with his arms crossed. His expression was disapproving but simultaneously understanding, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Yeah,”  Bellona repeated slowly, wondering whether or not he would alert the entire Compound of her leaving.

“Well… make sure you two are watching your backs. We aren’t the only ones looking for you.”

She blinked in surprise at his words, expecting a scolding or a lecture. “We are. We always are.”

“I don’t see how you planned to do that by coming here.” His tone was only slightly sarcastic and it made her pause before she grew annoyed as his affected nonchalance. 

“Stop playing games with me, Wilson,” she snapped, a bit more harshly than she would have had she not been irritated by the Avengers the entire day. Wanda Maximoff had shyly asked permission to explore deeper into her past and fears, an offer which Bellona had assertively declined. After that fact, Wanda had given her tortured looks the entire day, as though upset she hadn’t been given the chance to study her vulnerabilities; the Sokovian evidently had developed an intense curiosity concerning Bellona Drager and her history, bordering on complete obsession. Natasha Romanoff had hovered around her the entire day, looking for any possibility of her recalling what they had discussed earlier, and trying to understand the dichotomy in her metal eyes. Vision himself had appeared somewhat eager to engage her in conversation, about what, she had no idea, but Steve had become almost insufferable to be around. It wasn’t that he was yammering for information concerning his missing best friend, rather the side glances and hopeful looks that he thought she didn’t notice; it was like he was silently begging her to slip up and tell him something. Tony brushing off the other Avengers and claiming most of her time with his decidedly soft-spoken interrogation into her current state of well-being had been a welcome relief after the pressure from the others.

“I'm not playing games,” Sam said, “but you can at least realize that we've spent a year looking for you and both times you turn up you disappear almost immediately. It's maddening, you know, to be looking for someone who might not even be alive.”

“Well if it makes you feel better, you can pretend I'm dead. Both of us. The world seemed to like it better that way.” 

“Pretending to be dead is a hell of a lot different than actually being dead.”

“I think I would know.”

“You don't know until you're actually dead.”

“And then you wouldn't know because you're dead.”

“Okay…. You know what... I was trying to make a point but you had to go and… whatever. What I'm trying to say is you have other options.”

“What other options could I have possibly have?”

“Stay here. This is the safest place on earth. And it’s owned by Tony, I mean, c’mon, at least pity the guy, he sees you as his only family left. Besides, what you told him earlier really shook him up.”

“I can’t stay here, Sam.”

“Barnes?”

“Yeah.”

“If you did stay... wouldn’t he follow…? I read your files….”

“It’s… complicated… he’s not really somewhere he can leave right now….”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Bellona sighed, shooting Sam a grim smile before her hand flashed out before her and she vanished in front of his very eyes, causing him to swear in astonishment.

“Language,” she snickered, having been made privy to that ongoing joke amongst the Avengers. “Goodbye Sam. Tell Tony not to miss me too much, and to stop playing God when it comes to technology.”

“Wait — where are you going?” Sam lunged forward, looking wildly around, trying to spot the girl whom the air shielded from sight. His head snapped towards the heavy metal door as it creaked open as if on its own volition, and he heard her quiet laughter.

“We just discussed this, Wilson. I’m going back to Barnes.”


	65. June 2, 2015

It had to be an after effect of the coma. It was the only explanation. There was no way what he was seeing could be real. There was no way he happened to be in same airport at the same time as the same person he was staring at right now. 

She was waiting silently in one of the seats near a gate that led to an incoming flight from Ireland that was due to head to Germany next. A baseball cap covered double French braids, her leather jacket was worn and inconspicuous, she was fiddling with the strings on a battered black Northface backpack, keeping her head down. But as though she'd sensed his presence when he approached, she lifted her head slightly upwards, revealing her recognizable eyes. That was what had made him falter in his determined step through the terminal. He couldn't just pass by. 

He altered his direction and made a beeline for her. She had nowhere to go; the plane was arriving momentarily and fleeing would make things look suspicious. She maintained her downwards gaze while he approached but he knew she was more than aware of his incoming presence; he watched her tense slightly as he came within hearing range. 

Brock Rumlow sat next to Bellona Drager in the Heathrow Airport in London, England.

“What are you doing here?” He asked casually, starting off the conversation that he was dying to have.

“It's an airport,” her voice was tinged with sarcastic rebellion.

“Where's the asset? Barnes. Is he here?” If he was then Rumlow was definitely cutting this conversation short. He didn't want to get into a scruple with the former Winter Soldier, no matter how hot the chick was.

Bellona tilted her cap upwards to give him a hard look. “Does it look like he is?”

“You know I've read the files HYDRA had on you. Both of you. You're some sort of weapon programmed to obey the Winter Soldier, because no one else would be able to handle you. I can't see him letting you wander around the globe by yourself. I can't see  _ anyone _ letting you do that.”

“I can't see HYDRA letting you run around knowing all their intel. Or looking like that.” His scars from the altercation in D.C. last year tingled at her jab; he shot her a distasteful glance, and grew even more irritated when he observed that she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. He would have preferred to wear a mask of some sort over his face but found that in 2015, you were more suspicious for covering your face than for being covered with scars. The former could be seen as a terrorist threat, the latter was politically incorrect to question. 

“This is thanks to your good pal, Captain America. And I'm not with HYDRA anymore. I operate on my own.” There was no way Barnes was here then, she would have thrown it in his face immediately, unless she was temporizing until he reappeared. Then he’d have a problem on his hands.

“Congratulations, then, Rumlow, you've stopped being HYDRA’s bitch.” The former STRIKE commander stared coldly down at her, he wasn't letting her get away with that one, not with her own situation being what it was and the alliteration being what it could be.

“Yeah but you’re still Barnes’ bitch aren't you, Bellona?” He was pleased when an angry snarl twisted her pretty face, but was further annoyed when all it did was make her look even more dangerously alluring. God, she was so hot. He was almost jealous of Barnes; he had to understand that he had an incredibly attractive female literally wired to do whatever he wanted. He wondered if Barnes had figured it out yet; he couldn’t  _ not _ see it, particularly as the super-soldier asset probably had more testosterone than a whole team of steroid-enhanced football players.

“So is he here?”

“No,” she grudgingly responded, looking more than infuriated at the ex-STRIKE team commander.

“Where is he?”

“What do you want, Rumlow?”

“Just trying to figure out why the nuclear football was left in the middle of a London airport.”

“The ‘nuclear football’ is avoiding scum like you.”

“Why are you going to Germany?”

“I like sauerkraut.”

“Hilarious. Now tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, Rumlow,” she snapped her head to the side to glare directly at him, and he found himself entranced by the glowing of her blue eyes. He  _ really  _ hoped Barnes appreciated what HYDRA had given him.

“He doesn’t know you’re here, does he,” it wasn’t a question; he could tell from the dark circles under her eyes and her continued twitching that she had been flying solo for a bit.

“Not saying,” she retorted, quite bitchily, he noted, but bitchy looked good on her. In fact, anything looked good on her.

“Are you ditching him?” He asked genuinely, because he was still curious about the control complex that existed between the two — and whether or not it could be broken. “ _ Can  _ you ditch him?”

“Not your problem,” her tone was cool and apathetic as she crossed her arms over her backpack and shifted slightly away from him in her chair.

Rumlow allowed silence to fall between the pair for a moment, before Bellona’s eyes shifted over towards him and she aired a question.

“If you’re not with HYDRA anymore, what are you doing?”

He plastered an arrogant grin on his burned and puckered face which turned into a supercilious smirk when she caught a glance at him. “That’s not your problem now, is it,  _ Bells _ ?”

He had to admit, seeing Bellona Drager truly infuriated was terrifying. But it was also downright seductive. His fight-or-flight instinct, which usually told him to stand his ground and beat the shit out of whatever scared him, was telling him to tuck his tail between his legs and run, howling, to warn away the rest of the pack. Her eyes looked like they could cut diamonds, melt steel, and implode stars, her snarl was unquestioningly diabolical as she glared at him with such ferocity he almost would have preferred the Captain dropping another building on him. He wanted to turn his eyes away and flee as fast as he could, he also wanted to toss her over his shoulder and find an empty room somewhere in the airport.

And then it felt as though burning brands of white-hot fire had seized him by the throat, slowly, insidiously searing into his skin and then into his throat and esophagus itself, eating away at his cells and slicing through his airway. He was paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to breathe as he stared, horrified, into the volcanic blue eyes before him. The pain was so intense, he forgot what he had said to make her so irate, but he regretted it. He would prefer a building falling on him, third degree burns, and another coma over the pain that was carving into him now. 

“Never,” he heard her voice clear as day though she spoke in a low-pitched growl. “Never call me that.”

He thought he was seeing the light for the second time in his life when he caught sight of her fingers flashing under the sleeve of her jacket and the thousand-degree pressure that was blistering into his throat and lungs was paused so quickly, the release was almost more painful than the attack. She rose to her feet in a fluid movement as his hand flew up to massage his tortured skin; oxygen had never tasted so good before.

“Follow me, and I'll finish what Cap started in D.C.” She had leaned in to murmur in his ear, her lips just inches from his scarred flesh. The proximity would have thrilled him had it been any other situation, but he was fairly certain the amount of sheer energy that seemed to be shimmering off her and into his very cells was nothing more than absolutely lethal if she had chosen to end his life right there. 

She was gone before his mind could process that she had threatened him, leaving behind a faint scent of frozen ozone and the promise of death.


	66. June 3, 2015

It was quiet. As it ought to be, a few minutes past midnight. Bellona Drager paused just outside the door of the apartment, a door that would be invisible to anyone else because of the movement of air molecules in front of it. She reached out and inspected the air ward — it was intact and stable. She had worried she would be unable to maintain it from such a distance, but the energy she’d imbued within it was strong enough to upkeep itself. She let her hand rest upon the doorknob for a moment before she urged the metal of the locks to slide open and she softly pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness of the apartment and closing the door behind her. 

The first thing she noticed was the smell. It had only been a little more than three days, but the sickening stench of rotting fruit had begun to permeate the air in the locked apartment. She spotted its source: a dozen plum cores, gnawed down to the inedible cores, tossed across the small counter in a careless attempt to collect them in the sink. A short sigh escaped her lips when she realized the fruit were the only things the perpetrator of the mess had eaten since she’d been gone. She spied the accused slumped in the chair at the table in the middle of the room. Bucky Barnes was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing when Bellona left, his long hair was unkempt and knotted around his dozing head as though he’d been running his hands through it in worry. His head was resting on his arms, facing her. It looked as though he’d fallen into the chair in an overwhelming fit of physical and mental fatigue. He’d neglected his facial hair, which was growing in thicker than he normally kept it, and even in the darkness she could see the anxiety etched into the lines of his face. His eyelids had drooped shut, as though against his willpower. The dark circles under his eyes looked like craters of pitch, and even in his exhausted sleep he had a frown twisting his lips. She spied the letter she’d left him near his metal hand, his silver fingertips just touching the edges of the crumbled paper; it looked as though it had been folded and unfolded hundreds of times.

A guilty sigh escaped her own lips and she forced herself to turn away from him. She silently moved towards the scattered cores of rotting fruit. Sticking her bracelets in a pocket, some gentle manipulation of the carbon-glucose molecules and what was left of the plums decomposed instantly, turning to dust. Turning to the windows, she was bewildered for a moment upon finding that they had all been anxiously covered with assorted strips of newspaper. Staring from the windows to Bucky for a moment, she shook her head then raised a hand towards the nearest window, which opened upon her command. She quickly ushered the remnants of the plums out of the sink, through the air, and out the window. A cool breeze whistled through the apartment and she allowed it to cleanse the air of the putrid smell of fruit and freshen the staleness that had overcome the room. 

Bellona shuffled noiselessly across the room, towards where Bucky was passed out, his head on the table; every notebook he possessed was spread open before him. Some had pages ripped out, crumbled, balled up and tossed onto the floor or across the room as a result of a sudden fit of rage. She studied the content of the open notebooks for a moment, they were bursting with Bucky’s scrawling handwriting: his thoughts and recollections dribbling across the pages like inky galaxies of memories. There were names, dates, phrases, quotes, even a few incredibly detailed drawings. Her eyes landed upon familiar names: “Steve Rogers” was the most evident, with “Captain America” a close second. There were others, “Howard Stark”, “Peggy Carter”, “Red Skull”, “Gabe Jones”, “Jim Morita”, “James Montgomery”. There was a precise drawing of Cap’s shield, though she was unsure if Bucky had sketched it from memory or copied it from one of the miniature posters he’d taken from the museum in DC. 

She felt almost criminal; glancing through his notebooks was like viewing his past on paper, and the fact that he needed them to hang onto his former life was so nauseating and so relatable to the girl, that she flipped all the notebooks shut, gathered up the torn out pages and shuffled them into a neat pile, then assumed the task of collecting the pages he’d flung across the apartment in evident fury. It didn’t take her long to realize the difference between the pages on the table and the torn out, crumbled pages that he’d littered the floor with. Every page he’d become angered at had the same thing etched onto them. Incredibly-detailed drawings of bells. Large, like the Liberty Bell; small, like old-fashioned Christmas bells; and everything in between. She spent a few moments staring at each before shrugging her curiosity off and carefully placing the crumbled pages onto the table with the rest.

Bellona turned back to study the still-sleeping Bucky Barnes. She would not have disturbed him had the stress marring his face not begun flitting towards her like a contagious disease.

“Bucky,” she approached his side, “wake-”

At the sound of her voice, his head jerked up and his eyes flew open, their blue looking frenzied and aggressive; he was on his feet immediately. Bellona stumbled backwards in surprise from his sudden actions, tumbling down to the floor and landing on her elbows, gazing up at him with wide eyes. “Bucky?”

His eyes snapped to her own and he stared down at her, his face haggard and agitated. Neither of them knew how long they gazed at each other, until pained betrayal leaked into his violent blue eyes and she broke eye contact, biting back her guilt as her teeth ground at the surface of her lips.

“ _ You left _ ,” his voice cracked as he crossed his arms, his body language emanating hostility.

“Yeah,” she replied dolefully, closing her eyes to avoid seeing his steely glare. She ignored the fact that the Winter Soldier had addressed her in Russian. “I... had to.”

He was silent at this pitiful explanation, looking down at the girl at his feet with accusation, betrayal, anger, and pain flashing through his eyes before his face hardened into an unreadable mask. “ _ Why do you always look like hell when you come back _ ?” He growled, giving her a condemning look, shifting the blame to her for the worry that had plagued him for days.

“You should see yourself,” her eyes snapped open and her remark was biting. “You don’t look too brilliant either. And you have no excuse.”

“ _ Well what’s your excuse then _ ?” He demanded belligerently.  _ “Don’t tell me you fell out another window _ .”

“I didn’t!” Her tone was caustic, “along with running into Rumlow, I was forced to relive all my worst memories because some witch freaked out when she could sense me but not see me.”

“ _ What does that even mean _ ?”

“I don't know, some enhanced individual who’s joined the Avengers. She mentally attacked me, I did have an air ward up initially, so she panicked when she felt my presence but couldn’t see me…. What's your excuse?”

“ _ Does being lied to, betrayed, and locked in an apartment for days count _ ?”

Bellona winced at the venom in his voice and closed her eyes again, shifting herself forwards so she was on her knees before him. “Bucky… can you stop speaking Russian…?”

“ _ You could have at least not lied to me _ .”

“I’m sorry, okay!” She flicked her eyes open in exasperation. He was still standing over her, glaring down at her with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes blazing with emotions. She scowled up at him. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“ _ Don’t say that _ ,” he suddenly became perturbed and dropped his arms down to his sides. “ _ Don’t say I didn’t give you a choice _ .”

She paused, her scowl vanishing. Both knew he was referencing their days when choice wasn’t an option. A heavy sigh rolled through her and she dropped back into a comfortable cross-legged position on the floor before him. “That’s not what I meant, I just… I had to do this…. I didn’t want you to come out of hiding and endanger yourself.... I just wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

“ _ I thought we were in hiding together _ ?” His eyebrows shot up suspiciously.  _ “Or are you just tagging along _ ?”

“No! No, we are… we are in this together,” she had to close her eyes again from the intensity buzzing in his. “I... I don’t know, I had to find out…. I was just trying to keep you from being discovered, with the air wards and everything…. I didn’t think…. Well, I did think about it, but not much… the….”

“ _ This is what happens to anyone who’s locked inside a room for days _ ,” he spread his arms and gestured both around the apartment and to himself. “ _ Especially when they’ve been lied to by someone they thought they could trust to always be honest _ .”

She let her head fall into her hands and a groan escaped her lips. Unmitigated guilt was howling through her, burning like boiling oil had been poured into her very bloodstream. After a moment she forced herself to look up at him, her eyes meeting his and the familiar clicking sensation popped in the back of their brains. “ _ Why did you draw bells, Bucky _ ?”

“ _ What _ ?” He asked, taken aback by her random question and seemingly unfazed by the fact that she had switched over to Russian as well.

“ _ The notebooks... you left them open _ ,” she was quick to explain. “ _ All the torn out pages, had bells on them _ .”

“ _ That’s not your business now is it, Bells _ ?” He said crossly, folding his arms defensively, but something flashed behind his eyes that made him falter for a split second before he struggled to regain his cold demeanor. It was his lingering hesitation however, that made her realize what he had said. 

There was an unfamiliar burning sensation behind Bellona’s eyes, causing her to blink furiously, attempting to rid herself of the uncomfortable feeling, but her tries seemed only to worsen the stinging. “What the hell,” she muttered, her hands flying up to her face to rub at her eyes. It was an astonishment for both of them when her hands moved away to reveal her reddened eyes and silent streams of saltwater bubbling in her tear ducts.

“Are you… are you… crying?” Bucky snapped out of growling Russian; he was beyond astonished at the sight before him.

“What?” She hissed, “don’t be ridiculous!” She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them wide again, rolling them around in various directions. She succeeded only in allowing a few drops of water to roll their way from her molten blue eyes and begin a treacherous descent down her cheeks. A few choice curse words spilled from her tongue as she frantically brushed the drops off her face, appalled at her unexpected display of emotion.

The next thing she knew, Bucky had pulled her up off the floor and into a bone-crushing hug, which she gratefully returned.

“You smell like plums,” she mumbled into his chest; his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his ribs feeling like a familiar rhythm she was in sync with. 

“You smell like coffee,” he chortled, releasing her from the hug, the pained, accusing look at last vanishing from his eyes.

“I can’t believe you only ate plums the entire time I was gone,” she shook her head chidingly at him. “That’s not healthy.”

“The amount of caffeine you consume daily isn’t healthy either,” he defended his ardent love of plums before glancing around the apartment. “What did you do with all the-”

“Garbage?” She raised an eyebrow. “I  _ disposed  _ of it. You ought to be thankful I didn’t accidentally dispose of you while cleaning, you certainly resemble trash enough for me to make an honest mistake.”

“In my defense — that would be your fault,” he teased her light-heartedly in the way they normally dealt with the more serious, damaging issues they faced: with jokes and taunts. Sometimes it was easier to make tragic problems humorous than to blunder through them with a straight face.

“In my defense,” she mocked him, “you look like shit so maybe I’ll make food if you shower.”

“Whoa, didn’t know you were taking up the job of housekeeper. Hey I have some clothes that need to be washed-”

She hit him with a playful punch to the arm. “Wash your own damn clothes. And I’m making  _ myself  _ food. Maybe you’ll get lucky and there’ll be some left. Don’t count on it though.”

“Don’t worry,” he tugged one of her braids before whisking away, “I won’t.”

 


	67. June 3, 2015

“Toss me twelve eggs — Bucky, no, not like that!” Bellona screamed when Bucky Barnes pelted several eggs towards her at the same time. It was an Olympian effort to catch all of them before any could hit the ground and crack. By the time she had snatched all of them, she was fuming and he was laughing obnoxiously at her.

“You better duck!” She snarled and returned the fire. The smirk slipped off his face as he repeated her actions to attempt to snag all the eggs before they could drop to their metaphorical deaths.

“Stop messing around, Bells,” his tone was mockingly serious, “I want breakfast.” And he flung the eggs back at her. This time, however, she’d slipped off a bracelet and snatched up a bowl, bidding the eggs to crack one by one as he threw them. Not a drop of yolk being lost.

“Wooo — teamwork!” Bellona’s voice was sarcastic before she realized what was lacking. “We don’t have coffee!”

“Or plums,” Bucky sighed, dropping into the lone seat at the table and watching her kindle a fire under the pan. “I would have gone and got  _ both _ , that is, if I hadn’t been stuck in this room for-”

“Shut up, we both know you would have attempted to follow me and ended up doing something you’d regret.”

He shot her an irritable look. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t lied.”

“That was the whitest lie I’ve ever told.”

“That was the only lie you’ve ever told me.”

She was silent, unable to think of a good comeback because of the sudden gravity of the statement he made. Until she fumbled upon a way to diffuse the entire situation. “Actually, there was that time three weeks ago when I told you that Giorgio the fruit vendor only hates you because he’s jealous of your hair.”

“That wasn’t a lie,” Bucky snorted, “that was you, bantering bullshit as usual.”

“Bantering bullshit?” She sounded hurt, “but Giorgio really is jealous of your hair!”

“No, he’s jealous that I get to walk around the city with ‘una bellissima donna’ on my arm.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “I understand Italian, Bells. You should know, you taught it to me.”

“Well,” she huffed, her eyes watching the eggs, “Giorgio’s always been an objectifying flirt. But his plums are better than the ones you like to get from that old guy down the street.”

“Yeah, they taste like betrayal and being absent without leave.”

“Bucky!” Bellona groaned, dropping the spatula she was using to scoop up the eggs.

“Bells!” He mimicked her, snatched up the fallen spatula before it could hit the floor and filled his own plate with eggs before returning to his chair. She glared at him before loading her own plate and hopping up onto the counter, sitting cross-legged with the plate in her lap.

“Well these taste like misery and rotten fruit,” she gripped through a mouthful.

“Really?” Bucky chewed and looked almost pensive, “I was thinking more like lies and locked doors.”

“Unwashed clothes and notebook paper.”

“Shitty explanation notes and stale air.”

“C’mon, it wasn't that shitty of a note!” Bellona defended herself, tossing the now empty plate beside her and crossing her arms.

“You ended it with-” he whipped out the folded note from his pocket, where he had apparently stuffed it, “‘there are plums in the fridge and please don't be too mad at me’.”

“Which there were, and I don't know why I wrote that, seeing as it had no effect.”

“I'm not mad, just disappointed.”

“Shut up!” She choked on the laughter rising in reaction to the puppy dog look he had affected, “you're still so mad, I can see it in your eyes!” 

“Stop  _ lying  _ to me, Bells,” Bucky insisted, creamed with mock seriousness as he retained his gooey dog-eyes look.

“Stop looking at me like that!” She scowled at him, “you know you’re mad, but there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve gone and come back.”

“Do they know where you’ve gone?” He dropped the childish antics and grew grave within a matter of seconds.

She smoothly shook her head in the negative. “No. I snuck out at midnight and didn’t have the courtesy of leaving a note. So appreciate that I left you one. And they can’t track me, I had no electronics on me.”

“Good,” he nodded automatically, seeming to mull this information over for a moment. “Was… um, did you see….”

“Steve was there,” Bucky was grateful she knew exactly what he wanted to know. “I saw him. Talked to him. He’s busy, training the latest additions to the Avengers team.”

“Good,” he said again, mechanically. “That’s good.” His eyes, though on her, were far away, as if he was using her like a mirror to look through to another side that he couldn’t reach and didn’t know if he  _ wanted _ to reach. 

Bellona never breached the topic of Steve Rogers with the former Winter Soldier because she knew it was a sensitive one. Maybe Steve Rogers would have liked to reunite with his best friend. Maybe. But she didn’t believe that either of them were ready to face the other. Steve Rogers was not ready to face Bucky Barnes as the man who had melted out of the ice a few years ago, and Bucky Barnes was not ready to face Steve Rogers as the man who had been the fist of HYDRA for so long. All they remembered was the shadow of the other, who they had been before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve had crashed a plane into the frozen tundra. And the snippets they had glimpsed of who they were now were so contrary to what they could recall that they didn’t know how to hitch the two images together into one singular human with whom they could relate. In short, they weren’t the same, and neither was the world in which they now lived.

“Let’s go,” Bucky announced, rising from the chair, placing his empty plate in the sink before coming to stand before Bellona. “Coffee and plums.”

“Yes,” was all she said, nodding passively in agreement before Bucky reached forward, lifted her off the counter in one swift movement and placed her on the floor like a child.

“Forgot I’m five years old,” she commented sarcastically as she streaked about the apartment, grabbing whatever she usually took with her when they went out.

“Short enough to be,” he grunted, leaning against the door while she popped her reflective aviator sunglasses on and gave him a glare that he couldn’t see but knew existed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never met a five year old who was over five feet tall.”

“I have.”

“Who’s lying now?”

“Still you,” he remarked, opening the door and ushering her out. He grabbed her wrist before she managed to sneak entirely past him and flicked off a bracelet. “Air ward.”

“Do we need one?”

“Just do it.”

“Alright.” She snapped her fingers and a bubble of air shifted into being about the apartment, securing it from outsiders. “Done.”

“Good,” his tone was monotonous as he returned the bracelet to her wrist then snatched up her hand in his as he led her down the hall, the stairs, and into the street.

“You’re crushing my hand,” she commented after a few moments of silence.

“Oh,” he said nonchalantly, and his grip loosened slightly. Bellona rolled her eyes and chose not to make another snarky remark while Bucky led her to his favorite fruit stand in the city, run by a rickety white-haired local named Marcel, whose family Bellona suspected had been in Romania since it was the Roman province of Dacia. 

She studied their surroundings while Bucky asked the vendor for a few plums in polite Romanian. Going to take a step to the side, to get a better glance a young man suspiciously rummaging through his backpack, Bucky’s metal arm contracted under his glove and pulled her back to his side. She lifted her sunglasses just so she could shoot him an annoyed glare, which was returned by an eyeroll and a look of exasperation.

“Let’s get coffee before you do anything stupid,” Bucky murmured once the plums had been bought and secured. 

“I’m the one who does stupid things?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes, her hand still encased in his gloved metal one. 

“When you haven’t slept — yeah.”

“I’ve slept enough,” she replied harshly, memories of sedatives and cryo-freeze dripping through her mind. “That’s why I like coffee.”

“Isn’t it’s effect weakened-”

“Yeah. Actually  it has no effect. But don’t ever tell me that.”

Bucky suddenly sighed and reversed direction, heading across the street instead of down it; the abrupt reversal of direction with no forewarning irrationally infuriated Bellona.

“Where are we going?” She hissed, “do you need  _ more  _ plums?”

“We’re going to get coffee,” he explained it shortly, as though it was obvious. “Because I just want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” Bucky’s voice had a suspiciously mocking tone to it as he used her own words against her.

“I swear to God, James Buchanan Barnes,” she growled under her breath as he pulled her towards the cafè with the best espresso in the city, tugged the door open and ushered her in before him; the only time he bothered releasing her hand. Laughing quietly to himself, he followed her in to claim her right hand in his left once more.

“The largest size of your strongest espresso, please,” Bucky took it upon himself to order for her. The cafè was quiet because of the early hour; it had just opened for the day, and the young woman behind the counter still appeared to be somewhat in the clutches of sleep.

“Of course,” she murmured, and turned towards the espresso machines. Then she paused, glancing back at the pair, slight confusion etched across her sleepy face. “Sorry, did you say the largest size of our strongest espresso?”

“Yes,” Bellona responded, her dark aviators reflecting the woman’s confused countenance back at her. “That’s correct.”

“Oh… okay,” she blinked and returned to the espresso machines. Seconds later, Bucky handed her the money and Bellona eagerly took the large mug of espresso like a child on Christmas, gulping a swallow instantly, unaffected by how steaming hot it was.

“You know… you know, that, uh, that much caffeine is bad for your health, right?” The young barista asked shyly, flicking her eyes between the grizzled man in the baseball cap and the pretty girl in sunglasses.

“I haven’t died yet,” the wicked smile that lit up her face made her seem dangerously alluring, and the way the tall man with the long hair was looking at the girl beside him made the barista feel the nibbling fangs of envy; she wished her boyfriend would look at her like that.

Both watched Bellona Drager take another swig of the drink before Bucky Barnes pulled her across the cafe towards the cluster of empty tables. “You feel better?”

“Yeah,” she purred as the piping hot espresso fondled her tongue and warmed her throat. 

“We’re getting coffee beans anyway,” he pulled a chair out for her and beckoned her to sit. He then took up the seat opposite her. “Because that will last an hour.”

“Probably.”

“You need to sleep, Bells.”

“No, I don’t ‘need’ to sleep, Bucky,” she scowled, removing her sunglasses to again shoot him a glare over the now half-empty mug. Then she flicked her eyes towards the barista, who had been staring at the pair the entire time. When the sharp blue eyes turned to harshly gaze at the young barista, she flushed a light pink and hurriedly busied herself with scrubbing away at the already clean counter. Bucky had observed this entire silent interaction and when it had concluded his eyes bored into Bellona’s with aggressive intensity, a grating reminder that they were still fugitives on the run.

“You don’t think….”

“No,” she shut down his thought process of the barista possibly being HYDRA immediately. “She’s not. But let’s go anyway.”

  
  


*******

  
  


“What, mad I stole another of your shirts?” Bellona laughed as Bucky crashed down onto the mattress beside her, playfully pulling her down as he fell. 

“No,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and bringing his head close to hers, so that their foreheads were almost touching. 

“Then what?” She asked irritably. She'd been in the middle of touching up the braids in her hair and quite a fair amount of snowflakes and ice were visible on her dark locks. Her other braid, containing the electrical storm, she had not had the chance to redo, and could feel the charges sparking from a few strands of loose hair. 

“Last time I fell asleep, I woke up and you were gone.” He explained shortly and with no emotion, like he was giving a mission report.

“Bucky,” he watched her ethereal blue orbs roll in what she meant to be an exasperated action but to him was captivating. “You  _ know _ I'm not leaving again.”

“Maybe I do,” he admitted, “but I have to make sure.”

“Okay, well here's the thing,” she glared up into his stormy blue eyes. “I need to fix my braids or you'll end up frozen to death or electrocuted.”

Bucky pouted, flashing his puppy-dog eyes at her before rolling upright, bringing her with him, and settling the girl into his lap, where he could keep his hands on her as if to assure himself she was still really there. Bellona accepted this change in position without complaint, knowing it was the best she would get from him. She even turned so she could face him, kicking her legs out so they wrapped around his waist, helping her to keep her balance while her fingers were busy braiding her hair. 

“What if you just… took the braids out together?” Bucky asked as he watched her tie off the right braid that contained ice.

“I don't want to try right now,” she remarked, paying more attention to her hair than to him, though well aware he was paying hyper-attention to her. His eyes roved over her dancing fingers; her bare, pale arms; her muscles contracting and relaxing with every strand of hair pulled over another; the silver glinting of her bracelets.

“Electricity and ice… weird combination,” he commented with a tone that implied he knew he was spouting irrelevant noise. 

“Yeah,” Bellona said blankly, busy as she combed her fingers through her hair, smoothing out and reweaving the strands together, guaranteeing safe storage of the harnessed storm. 

“Done?” He asked after a few moments, watching her bite her lip in her concentration.

“Can you relax?” She snapped as she was finishing up the other braid, “do I look done?”

He waited until she was done to respond. “Now you do,” he smirked; his hands tightening around her waist, he flipped over, so he was above her. Her legs were still around him, ensuring her balance. One hand next to her ear steadied him above her, his left hand reached out to study one braid at a time. “I really want to know what would happen-”

“I'm not taking either of them out fully,” she barked up at him. 

He continued like she hadn't spoken. “If you took them out and never redid them, do you have a way of taking the energy out? Can it run out on its own if you use it too much?” 

“It would run out, yes I have a way, and yes it can. Part of the reason why I put the storm in half my hair was because the snow was running low, I didn't need a full single braid for it.”

“How long until it runs out?” He asked, letting the long silky braid run over his metal fingertips. 

“I don't know,” she admitted honestly, “I've been using it for so long, it's all from the same blizzard.”

“Must have been one hell of a blizzard.”

“It would have been, if it had hit the East Coast.” 

Bucky rolled over, dropping to his side and bringing her with him. He draped his weightier left arm across her, ensuring her position beside him, and allowed his right hand to resume his careful study of her braids. Bellona rolled her eyes and stretched out her legs, the baggy sweatpants soft and warm against her skin. She almost rolled her eyes again when Bucky unconsciously placed a leg over hers. She let him be content with assuring himself that she was actually there, as she felt guilty enough as it was. 

“So do you want to explain why you lied to me?” 

“Bucky!” She said in exasperation, slapping his hand away from her hair and giving him an annoyed look. “Are you serious? I've already told you.”

“Did you?” He asked casually, flicking her hand out of his way and picking up one of her braids again. 

“Yes,” she scowled at him, “I didn't want you to risk coming out of hiding.”

“But it's no risk at all if  _ you _ come out of hiding,” his voice was harsh and grating and she winced at it.

“Well,” she paused, collecting her thoughts, “I've been hanging around with the Avengers since they got me out of cryo a few years ago. It helps to have them on my side.” 

“Can't they track you back to here,” Bucky frowned, lightly tugging her right braid in earnest as though he hadn’t already asked the question.

Bellona shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her face. “The air ward is untraceable even by the most advanced technology, and it's up most of the time. We’re off the map entirely.” 

“Is it up now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Wouldn't want any of your enhanced friends walking in the front door.” 

“Yeah, they'd find out my roommate is a total dork with no regard for personal space.” 

“You don't complain about personal space when you can't sleep.”

Bellona reached her hand up, tugged her braid from his grasp, then rolled over, attempting to slip out of Bucky's arms. His reaction was instantaneous, his metal arm wrapping around her with a force so crushing it would have broken her ribs had super-soldier serum not ran through her veins.

“Where are you going?” She broke into laughter at the panic rising in his voice when she moved away from him; falling back against him snickering uncontrollably.

Bucky flipped them over unceremoniously so that he was above her, using his body weight to immobilize her, his arms holding hers down for fear of any elemental usage. He stared down at her in obvious confusion, his eyes flicking between hers as though to diagnose her mental health. 

“You’re… you're so….”

“So what?” He snapped, annoyed at this unexpected amusement of hers. 

“So nervous,” she rumbled with laughter, “did you really think I was just gonna get up and walk out?”

“That's what you did the other time,” he narrowed his eyes accusingly. 

“I was  _ prepared _ that time,” she chuckled, “you were too busy writing in your notebooks to notice.”

“Oh well I'm sorry,” Bucky said sarcastically, “I didn't realize I had to monitor your actions at all times to make sure you don't just vanish.”

Bellona laughed again, “you know what you are, Bucky?”

His eyebrows furrowed and his forehead creased over at her question. “Uh, what?”

“You're  _ jealous _ .”

“What?” He seemed flabbergasted, “ _ jealous? _ Of  _ what? _ ”

“I don't know,” Bellona snickered, “everything. Jealous that I slipped off to see my ‘enhanced friends’ and ditched you. Jealous that Giorgio openly flirts with me all the time… oh my God….” Her eyes widened with sudden realization. 

“What?” Bucky demanded, his eyes narrowing at her bright blue ones. 

“You're like… you're like that super jealous teenage boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is always about to cheat on him and is so obsessed with her that he doesn't want-”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Bucky interrupted her, “you sound  _ ridiculous _ , Bells. Completely insane. I think you need to sleep.”

“Then get  _ off me. _ ” She growled, glaring up at him, and he seemed to realize that his weight atop her was preventing her from moving. This seemed to satisfy him until she snapped at him again and he obliged to roll off her, but not without scooping her into his arms and bringing her with him, so she lay pressed as close to his side as he could physically bring her. She grumbled about this a bit, his metal arm around her offered little freedom of motion to her, and she had to squirm and twist a bit irritably to achieve a comfortable position beside him. She settled with curling into a ball, her head on his chest, his metal arm wrapped around her shoulders and upper body, his other gently gripping her own left hand, as though he was afraid she would vanish if he didn't have two hands on her. 

“Goodnight, Bells,”the words rumbled through his chest; she could feel the vibrations of his husky voice along with his steady heartbeat. 

“Goodnight, Bucky,” she murmured back and was asleep instantly. 


	68. December 21, 2015

Bucky Barnes was reliving a nightmare. Bellona Drager could practically see the demons clawing about inside his head, his mental anguish exhibiting itself in his clenched jaw and strained neck muscles. His sharp intake of breath has awoken her, and she had sat up from where she had dozed off on the mattress, spotting him passed out with his head in his arms at the table, his body limp in the rickety chair. His hair had fallen across his face, but she could still identify the horrors passing through his mind. 

Bellona tossed the blanket she didn't remember covering herself with away and jumped to her feet, hurrying across the room towards him. She pushed the notebooks scattered across the table to the side, their pages rustling with the motion, and hopped onto the table itself. She pulled her bracelets off, struggling a bit before tossing them to the side; they landed with gentle thuds on top of his notebooks. She had to wrestle his hands away from his head, grappling with his left arm was a bit of a challenge, but she managed to lift his head from his tremoring arms. 

“Bucky,” Bellona murmured, brushing his hair away from his face, “Bucky, wake up!” She lightly slapped his cheek, growing worried when her voice or touch couldn't seem to shake him from the demons’ thrall. His eyes still rolled behind his eyelids and his jaw was tightly clenched, yet his teeth were slowly grinding themselves against each other. “Bucky!”

Bellona bit her lip and inhaled slowly, hesitant about what she was about to do, despite having planned to do it from the start. Taking his chin in one hand, she placed the palm of her other on his forehead and snapped her blue eyes shut, focusing on sending calm, cooling waves of energy from her palm into his skin.

And then Bellona Drager was flying through the air, sailing towards the wall across the apartment, which she hit with a loud thud, crumbling down to the ground in astonishment. Blood seeped over her tongue, tingling against her tastebuds with its rusty iron flavor — she had again bitten her lip in the fall. She immediately pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the vague pain from the impact with both the wall and the ground. 

“Bucky?” Bellona asked, her voice shaking as she staggered back towards him. He was hunched over in the chair, his hands clutching his head as he rocked himself gently back and forth in total silence, tremors running through his entire body. Guilt suddenly coursed through the blue-eyed girl; sending energy through his head, despite her good intentions, likely triggered memories of HYDRA brain washings; his reaction had been instinctual. Bellona wasn't even sure if he was conscious, as his eyes and face were hidden from her.

“Bucky?” She whispered, quietly approaching him; she knelt before him and gently placed a hand on his knee. This initiated no reaction from him, to her intense relief. “Bucky… it's me… it's Bells,” she murmured to him, and after a quiet moment, his silver left arm dropped from his face and he jerked his head up shakily, revealing a single, pained blue eye, reddened from emotion and memory. It wasn’t the color that sent tingles of worry through his companion — it was the blankness, the deadness, the solemnity. His metal arm was tensing, as if expecting some form of abuse to come his way. Bellona didn’t dare use any more elemental power to get him to calm down, so she did the first thing that popped into her head. She forced his other hand away from his head, then grabbed the side of his face, leaned in, and kissed him.

His first reaction was to freeze up in shock, she could feel his muscles clenching together as if in preparation for a defensive motion, so she pulled back after a moment, preparing to take another impact if he swung his arm again. 

But no impact came. Instead Bellona found herself pulled up into his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his lips found hers this time. The kiss tasted like blood, sweat, tears — and violent, agonizing, tormenting pain. After what felt like hours, both pulled away, gasping for breath, her arms were wrapped around his neck, his were encircling her waist, holding her in his lap. He leaned down, resting his forehead on hers and sighed heavily. Bellona smiled up at him, about to make a remark but he quickly beat her to it. 

“About damn time,” his voice was teasing and his blue eyes were clear and brimming with a whirlpool of emotions, but these were far different that the ones prior. 

“Shut up,” she laughed and bit down on her lip again, drawing more blood. 

“Bells….” his eyes grew worried seeing this, “you’re bleeding.”

“Yeah,” She could taste the salty blood darkening her lips. “I got cut.”

Bucky frowned, “how?”

“Um… well, you, kind of freaked and… threw me, well more like you hit me and I… flew, ahaha….”

His eyes widened, and Bellona watched guilt filter across his features. “Oh my God…” he breathed, “shit…. Bells, I’m so-” She shut him up by pressing her lips to his again. When she moved away he was gazing down at her, looked dazed, astonished, and sporting her own blood on his lips.

“I told you to shut up,” She said, carefully reaching forward to wipe the blood on his lips away with a flick of her thumb. “It was my fault anyways, for using elemental power on you, and you weren’t even conscious when it happened.”

“But it still did.” His eyes were tortured, “and I still did it. Doesn’t matter if I knew what I was doing, I still did it… I still did it….”

Bellona frowned, tilting her head to study him curiously, because the weight in his tone implied he was referring to something more, something else, other than accidentally throwing her across the room. 

He sighed, flicking his eyes away from her questioning blue ones and stared at a spot on the floor behind her. A saturated silence filled the apartment, tension stiffening their words and actions.

“Bucky?” She asked quietly, “what….”

“Bells,” he cut her off, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he swallowed, he met her eyes briefly before quickly glancing away, though she caught the burning regret in them. “There’s something… something I probably should have told you… a long time ago….”

“What?” Bellona asked, confusion raising the intonation of her voice.

Bucky began slowly, and painfully, pronouncing every word as though he was spitting needles through his teeth. “Your… parents… they were killed….”

“By HYDRA when I was kidnapped by you….”

“It was before I kidnapped you… I know because… well, because I was the one who killed them.”


	69. December 22, 2015

Bucky Barnes could recognize an existential crisis when he saw one. He left Bellona Drager alone, understanding her need for space and mental acceptance of the bomb he just dropped on the girl who had been by his side for decades. She hadn't known, she supposed she should have known, and maybe she did know, somewhere in the back of her turmoil of a subconscious, but refused to accept it. But now she had to. 

Bellona was sitting cross-legged on the counter, her usual position, hands folded neatly in her lap, she was staring across the apartment, expression blank but her mind was full of an inner conflict that was inexpressible via facial movements. 

Bucky Barnes was sitting quietly across the apartment, twirling a pen between his fingers and occasionally flipping through one of his notebooks, pretending to be occupied. In reality, he simply needed something to do with his hands. Bellona’s blank stare was like a wrench in his gut; it killed him. He would have preferred it if she had screamed and punched him straight in the face. Instead, she had calmly stood, walked over to the counter, and sat on it, saying nothing and looking merely pensive at worst. It was horrible, but it had been eating him alive for so long, and the nightmare had pushed him over the edge. 

He remembered their faces; of all those he’d killed, he remembered her parents… as he put a bullet through each of their brains. He remembered how ardent James Drager’s voice had been, as the lawyer had time to choke out a single sentence, “you won't find my daughter here,” before he'd pulled the trigger. And he remembered thinking that it was a waste of breath, because that much was obvious. He’d found their daughter later.

He remembered how Maria Drager’s green eyes had been glowing with fright and how her words had trembled as she pleaded, but not for herself, for her daughter. “Don't hurt Bellona, please don't hurt my baby!” He remembered wondering why the two had been so obsessed with their daughter. He remembered thinking that that had been the easy part of the assignment: murdering James and Maria Drager. Kidnapping Bellona Drager was the hardest assignment he had ever had, but simultaneously the greatest thing that had happened to him. She made the demons vanish. They cowered before her voice, whimpered at the sight of her eyes, and, as he’d recently discovered, turned tail and fled at the taste of her lips. At times he didn't realize it, but he had been keeping Maria Drager’s last request for twenty four years. 

Bellona Drager’s existential crisis was not so much due to Bucky Barnes having murdered her mother and father, but more so attributed to the fact that she was straining to remember her parent’s faces, recall her mother’s smile and her father’s laugh. When she harried to remember the gentle hug of Maria Drager, she thought of Bucky’s arms around her, reassuring her of his presence in the face of howling nightmares. When she pressed herself to think of her father’s kind words, all she could hear was Bucky’s calming voice, whispering comfort into her ear. 

What was troubling her most, however, was that she was unable to determine if her mind being fixated on the former Winter Soldier was due to HYDRA’s training and tampering of her mind, or if it was beyond that.

“Bucky,” Bellona cleared her throat hours later and allowed her gaze to rove from the blank wall across the room down to where he sat at the table. He jumped at the sound of her voice, jerking his head up to look at her, his face cautious, unsure what to expect. “Do you…” she began slowly, “do you… remember…?”

He dipped his head in affirmation, avoiding her burning blue eyes.

“What… um, what did they look like?”

Bucky stared at her for a long moment, his lips parting in surprise, his eyes blinked with horror as he realized Bellona Drager had no memory of her parents, that much was clear from the desperate look on her face. “Um, well,” he coughed, dropping his eyes to the table. “I always thought it was strange how… your mom had green eyes, and your dad had hazel….”

“And mine are blue,” she murmured softly. 

He nodded, “this really brilliant blue, it kind of punches you in the face when you look at them first and then-”

“I asked about my parents,” she stopped him, “not me.”

“Oh right, yeah,” he mumbled, running a hand through his long hair. “You have your mom’s hair, yours is longer and straighter though. Your dad was going gray… he was a lawyer, wasn't too happy with the whole, you know, home invasion thing… your mom… she asked about you, wanted to keep you safe, didn't care about her own safety….”

“How did you kill them?”

He shrugged, wringing his left hand before responding. “Soviet slug.”

“No, I mean, did you… just bust in and… or was it a snipe...?”

“Oh….” He paused, “well, uh, the house had no easy sniper points surrounding it….”

“So you strolled in and shot them.”

“Well… yeah….”

“I see.” 

“Bells-”

She held up a hand, “so my mom had dark hair and green eyes, my dad had hazel eyes and graying hair….”

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah that's weird.”

“Wha-what's weird?”

“How I have blue eyes,” she pondered aloud, “the genetic combination would be… interesting…. Both would have to carry the blue-eyed allele… I wonder what color my grandparent’s eyes were….”

Bucky’s jaw had dropped in his astonishment as he watched Bellona Drager wonder about the genetics of her family. Here he was, admitting how he'd murdered her parents, and she was more interested in how her eyes were blue while her parents were hazel and green. It occurred to him that it might have been his fault for bringing it up, but she'd dismissed this question earlier. 

“I didn't have any siblings… I don't think….” She was still talking about it, “you didn't kill anyone else that day did you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Was it immediately before you kidnapped me?” Her voice had taken this cold, calculating tone that implied she had removed all emotion from the situation and was now logically analyzing the scenario. It terrified him. 

“Uh, yes.”

“Why didn't HYDRA ever throw it in my face?”

“I don't know….”

“I suppose they'd thought it would be detrimental to the whole training process. God I would have beaten your ass… but… why didn't you tell me — before now?” There it was. And he didn't know how to respond. 

“Um, well….”

“What?” 

“I didn't… well how exactly do I tell you that?

“That you fucking murdered my parents? You say, ‘hey Bells, by the way, HYDRA had me kill your parents decades ago. Wanna go get coffee?’”

“C’mon, Bells, I couldn’t-”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear your stupid explanation. And don't get all offended because I'm mad at you, seeing as you got irrationally angry when I left.”

“That was only because you lied-”

“You lied to me about this!”

“No, it wasn't lying, I was only… withholding the truth, technically.”

“Don't get technical with me.”

“You do it all the time.”

“Yeah but you don't murder my parents all the time, do you?”

Bucky sighed, letting his head hang with shame. “Bells-”

“Stop,” she held up a hand and he snapped his jaw shut, not wanting to push her. “I don't want to hear it. I'm mad you didn't tell me this, oh I don't know,  _ years  _ ago.”

“Wait,” he couldn't help himself, “you're mad… that I didn't tell you?”

“Yes, Bucky, that's what I just said,” Bellona snapped irritably. 

“But… you're not upset that _I_ killed them?” 

“You've killed a lot of people,” she stated slowly, staring down at her hands in her lap, “so have I.” 

“But Bells, they were-”

“My parents, I know,” she interrupted him. “But I had to ask you what they looked like. And neither of us can change the past….” She paused a moment, letting silence hang about the apartment before looking up at him with a slight smile illuminating her face in the darkness of the unlit room. “Besides,  _ you  _ killed them. Do you think I kiss everyone who’s having a mental breakdown before me? Absolutely not.” 

“So-”

“So, shut up and leave me alone for a bit.” She slid off the counter and landed softly on the balls of her feet, then rocked backwards onto her heels with resolute firmness. She didn't glance at Bucky as she marched past his silent self on his chair, threw herself downwards onto the mattress, and was out the second her body hit the soft surface. 

 

She awoke hours later, when the moon was beginning to rise, and darkness was consuming the urban landscape. The interior of the tiny apartment was not exempt, and she blinked her eyes open to blackness. After a moment of staring into a void, she blinked again and her eyes sharpened, focusing on objects around her, reassuring her consciousness of her surroundings. The energy that flowed from atom to atom in her body was able to focus her eyesight in absence of light, and, though she was unaware, caused her eyes to glow a luminescent blue, thin glimmers of sapphires around the inky holes of pupils. 

Bellona rolled over silently and rose to her feet, spotting Bucky still sitting at the table where she'd last seen him. Now, his head was in his hands, his elbows supporting himself on the table, his hair falling about his face as though to mockingly crown his evident guilt. 

“Bucky?” He slowly raised his eyes from where he was staring at a spot on the clear table to Bellona. Although he couldn't see her in the darkness, he could clearly perceive the twin rings of cerulean clarity approaching him. There was a quiet snapping sound, and suddenly, hovering a foot above the table, was a flickering circle of white flames, producing neither smoke nor heat, but pure virgin light. He watched the blue glow simmer down to their usual fierce azure as Bellona came to stand before him, a sad smile on her face. 

“Have you sat here the whole time?” She asked, and her voice rang through his foggy, ignominious mind. 

“Yeah,” he replied slowly. “It's been a while.”

“Why?” She questioned, but they both knew she already knew the answer. 

He shrugged, looking away from her piercing eyes. “Couldn't sleep I guess.”

“Stop,” her voice rang imperiously, but he merely shook his head; she couldn't command him, and it wasn't sleep they were referring to.

“You know I can't.” 

“I want you to,” she insisted. “Stop blaming yourself, there's no point in feeling guilty over it. I'm not suffering now am I?” 

“I don't know, are you?” He asked anxiously. 

“No,” she declared, hopping up onto the table and smiling down at him. “But you beat yourself up over this when you shouldn't.”

“Yeah but Bells… your  _ parents… _ _. _ ”

“You don't get it, do you,” she sighed, shaking her head and giving him an exasperated look. “My parents have been dead for twenty-four years.”

“But they're still  _ your parents _ .”

“Have they been alongside me for the past twenty-four years, through all my experiences with HYDRA, through all my training to become a lethal killing machine, through all the assignments, all the missions, all the… torture….” The light behind her flickered on Bucky’s face, ushering out the emotions that were swirling through his mind. The same light created a halo around Bellona, glinting off her hair and sending tongues of fire gleaming and glowing down her braids. To Bucky, it made her look even more like the goddess she was named after. 

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair and giving blue-eyed Bellona a grim smile. “So what are you saying?”

Bellona made an aggravated noise. “How dense are you? I don't… care, I suppose, that you killed my parents, when it's been you who's been by my side these past twenty-four years. I mean, how many times did you save my life while on missions?”

“Probably about as many times you've saved mine,” his smile was melancholic but it quickly changed as his eyes met hers and the question arose in them, the question that had been burning for years, the question they had avoided ever since running into each other on the banks of the Potomac.

“Is that you talking, or is that HYDRA talking?”

Bellona froze, taken aback by the query as a deafening roar seemed to overtake her mind, drowning out her thoughts and even infiltrating her subconscious. She bit her lip and stared down at her wrists, where four different brands glared back at her, daring her to answer him. Without realizing it, she traced the leering tentacles of the HYDRA head and felt a tingling shiver run down her spine, effectively paralyzing her. She swallowed and let her shoulders slump before she looked back up at Bucky, who was holding his breath, awaiting her answer with worried eyes. 

Her eyes were glazed, their fierce indigo dulled by the turmoil that was wreaking havoc behind them. “Bucky… I…” her voice cracked and she licked her lips, bloodied again from the violence inflicted from her teeth. The scarlet blood seemed to mock him more than her. She stared him directly in the eye and consequently had no choice but to utter the bitter truth. “ _ I don’t know _ ….”


	70. December 23, 2015

It had taken a lot of talking by Bellona Drager, several strong cups of coffee, and a near temper tantrum to convince Bucky Barnes that returning to Boston, Bellona’s hometown, was a good idea. Her unspoken but much referred to argument being an ardent desire to remember her parents, and Bucky’s paralyzing guilt essentially offered him no choice.

Flying into Logan Airport at Boston gave Bellona a lingering feeling of dé-jà vu that she couldn't quite place. Bucky had let her take the window seat and she’d stared down at the Atlantic Ocean the entire flight, only becoming anxious when the freckled islands of Boston Harbor appeared and the skyscrapers of the downtown area gleamed up to the heavens, defying gravity, history, and opinion. Bucky’s hand tightened around hers, he’d grasped her right hand in his left throughout the flight, she'd let him, because she was just as nervous as he was. 

“You okay?” He asked in a low voice as the plane descended. 

“Yeah,” she turned away from the window and smiled at him. “Just… worried, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“What if I get there and don't remember anything?”

Bucky’s thumb pressed against the back of her palm in steady reassurance. “Bells… it's not all going to come back instantly… it comes back in flashes, triggered by certain things… people, places, words, even food can do it. Sometimes you gotta fight for it, and sometimes you still won't remember it. But at least you tried and fought for it…”

 

****************

 

Their request had been strange: “just get us into Boston,” the girl with the mesmerizing blue eyes had asked, and the twenty-four year old taxi driver hadn't been able to process what she'd said. He'd been a bit distracted by the female, wondering if she had a boyfriend, wondering how long she'd be in Boston, wondering if he ought to ask her out to have a drink with him. She was definitely hotter than his last girlfriend. Then the stocky man in a heavy jacket and baseball cap, who had several inches and quite a few pounds on his lanky, grad school-diet frame had repeated the request; taking the girl’s bare hand in his gloved one, he'd given the cab driver a beady glare, and that was when he looked at both of them, not just the smokeshow before him. They didn't even have to be holding hands for him to be able to tell they were most definitely a thing. Their very body language exuded a synergy you saw with couples who were soulmates and best friends wrapped up into one. Synergy a thousand times greater than what he'd had with the girl he dated his freshman year at Boston University. They had met in their first Chemistry class and found out they were both biomedical engineering majors. They'd spent the year cracking jokes over who would end up dropping out of the program first. It had been him, just after the last semester. And then she’d dumped him; last he heard she was dating a starter on the B.U. men’s hockey team. That was the incredibly abridged version of the story that led to him staring at the girl with the shimmering blue eyes and the man with the long hair and unshaven face, wondering how two people any more different could be any more alike. Despite looking lean and athletic, the girl was still tiny, like a strong gust of wind would knock her down but there was a shimmer of raw energy around her that attracted his eyes and attention immediately. The man was an entirely different story; he had that brooding alpha male dominance about him that made him not want to look either of them in the eye. The only thing was, he wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of.

“Uh, where... where would you like to go again?” He'd stuttered, deciding he was more terrified of the male in the heavy jacket, seeing as he at least  _ looked  _ like he could crush his skull with one bicep. The hot chick just subtly gave off that aura.

“Just get us to Boston,” she had snapped, irritated at how long it was taking. 

“Right, right away,” he muttered, pausing for a moment when he realized they carried no luggage other than backpacks, then he jumped forward to tug open the cab door for the girl. She hopped into the vehicle with one fluid movement and the man followed closely, pulling the door shut behind them. 

It was snowing in Boston. When they'd stepped out of the airport, it was a few light flurries, powdering the ground like the purest fairy dust, but once their cab had gotten through the tunnel and into the city, it had become a fast, furious whiteout with rapidly failing visibility. 

“I can't go any further,” the cab driver had pulled to the side of the road and reluctantly turned around to face the pair in the backseat, something he’d been avoiding doing. They'd been murmuring in voices too low for him to hear, but now they quieted and turned away from gazing into each other’s eyes to stare at him with identical facial expressions. He gulped and muttered what he would have told any other passenger. “Visibility is zero, you chose the wrong day to fly into Beantown, this storm’s supposed to be a monstah.”

“Stop acting like you're from Boston,” the girl sounded annoyed, “you're from Michigan, likely Detroit, and are driving a taxi to help pay off your student loans.”

He blanched, “wha- how did you know all that?”

The man chuckled quietly, and the cab driver watched him look fondly at the girl beside him as a smirk flourished on her face. She pointed through the glass partition to the front mirror. “Detroit Red Wings.” The red tire and wings hockey team logo spun slowly on its own accord. The driver had forgotten he’d tied it to his rearview mirror when he’d gotten the taxi. His sister had sent it as keepsake during his sophomore year of undergrad, a bit of his past home to keep to himself in a new city that was quickly becoming his new home. 

“Oh…” He blurted, “I forgot I had it hung there, haha....” He didn't know why the pair in the back made him feel so uneasy, the girl’s smirk smoldered like it could melt steel despite the sub-zero temperatures, and a simple gesture at the ornament didn’t explain why she knew he had taken up taxi driving to help pay back his student loans.

“So what were you saying?” She asked in a sugary voice that made him even more uncomfortable than the fact that the man had turned away from possessively looking at the girl and was now watching him with a predatorial expression on his face.

“Um, I can't go on… the visibility is too bad, even my high beams aren't helping.”

“Okay,” the blue-eyed girl said casually, like this was the least of their problems; “we'll walk from here, then.”

“Walk,” the cab driver repeated stupidly, “but it's-”

“We’re aware of the weather,” the man said, clicking the girl’s seatbelt undone. The driver hadn't missed the fact that while the man had made sure the girl was buckled in, he hadn't bothered with his own belt. 

“Roll down this,” the girl commanded, tapping the glass partition and pulling a wad of cash out of the pocket on her jacket. His eyes bugged at the sight of it, and he glanced at the dash, where the machine was keeping track of the miles and dollars, the amount of money in her hands was insanely more than the taxi fee was. He meekly rolled down the glass between them. This day had been so weird.

“Here,” the girl said, peeling off several twenty dollar bills from the wad, “keep the extra.” 

He slowly reached forward and took the paper bills from her, making sure his fingers didn't brush against hers because he had a feeling if they did, the long-haired man watching would have decapitated him right there and then. “Uh… thanks….”

“No problem,” she responded coolly, “want to tell us where we are?”

“Oh, we’re near Suffolk University,” he said hastily, then seeing their blank faces, he added, “down the street from the Boston Common.” 

“Ah, okay,” the girl nodded in understanding, though the cab driver had the feeling that she didn't have a clue what he had said. She tugged at the door handle, pushed the door open, where snow and wind were howling and twirling about the streets, stepped out and slammed the door behind her. The man had exited the other door and stepped around the back of the taxi to join her on the sidewalk that was rapidly becoming covered in snow. The driver let out a sigh when they both had exited; that was the strangest drive he’d ever had.

Bellona Drager held out her hand to Bucky Barnes and he took it, instantly feeling the warmth of her air ward slip around them, like a thin bubble that shut them out from the rest of the world, suddenly the roar of the wind and snow died, the biting cold was extinguished and they were alone together. But he noticed she had allowed a few small flurries of snow to drift gently down onto them, getting caught in and melting in their hair and on their shoulders.

“So,” Bucky glanced down at her, smiling at the way the hushed snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes and made her eyes glisten with a soft light. “Where to now?”

“Um,” she frowned slightly, squinting around at her surroundings. The snow was whipping down the narrow street, though it sounded like a mere calm whisper from inside their air ward. “We should head towards the Common, I think… I think that’s King’s Chapel, over there.” She pointed across the street, where a few tall columns could just be seen through the sheets of snow pounding the buildings.

“Is it significant?” Bucky asked, clasping her hand tighter and leading her down the street. She seemed almost reluctant to continue what they had come so far for.

“I… I don’t think so,” she sighed, licking her dry lips in annoyance. “Let’s keep going, though.” Now she plunged ahead, and the two walked as fast as they could through the snowstorm, without breaking into a run. The streets were empty, no pedestrians in sight, a few lone cars were either parked or their drivers had pulled over, waiting for the snow’s intensity to mitigate.

“Bells,” Bucky began after a few minutes of walking straight ahead, “do you... know where we’re going…?”

Bellona stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and bit her lip. She swallowed nervously then sighed. A grim smile on her face, she looked up at Bucky and shook her head in the negative. Then her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him and a thought crossed her mind. “But wait… don’t y _ ou  _ remember….”

He'd been waiting for her to realize that, although he'd been hoping she wouldn't, not until she'd remembered something from her old life. “I do,” he replied slowly, gazing down at her, then flicking his eyes up to take in their surroundings. “We’re not far… do you recognize anything?” 

Bellona was silent as she stood and stared. They'd reached the edge of the Boston Common, she assumed, from the way the buildings melted away and a wide space extended before them, that at least was noticeable in the blinding snow. She spent several moments in quietude, observing and wondering. The ponderous expression on her face gave Bucky a bit of hope, but that was shattered when she finally turned to face him, her lip trembling and her eyes terrified, she cast her expression down immediately and refused to meet his eyes as she shook her head again. 

Bucky sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. He hugged her for a moment, as she quivered from the horror of the absences within her own mind, then slowly began to lead her to the right, keeping his arm around her shoulder. 

They walked together through the raging blizzard, a tiny bubble of warmth and quiet, impervious to Old Man Winter’s wrath — until Bellona started crying. 

Bucky hadn't noticed she had begun silently weeping, but was alerted to her tears the second they began because the air ward failed. Suddenly their ears were drowning in the shrieking of the wind around them, frozen snow and ice battering against their unprotected faces, the cold blasting over them like a deluge of icy water. 

“Bells?” Bucky tugged her over to a thick oak in the middle of the Common. Her back pressed against the bark to shelter her from the wind as much as possible, he gently picked her chin up with his hand. Her eyes were red, tears were winding their way down her cheeks like silent salty springs, but her mouth was a straight slash across her face, revealing no emotions, instead her eyes told him all he needed to know. 

“I'm… sorry,” she choked out, bringing a bare hand up to wipe at her face. “About the air ward…. Usually they're easy to maintain, but I just… lost control….”

“Don't worry about the air ward, Bells,” Bucky groaned, “are you okay to go on? We can go back.”

Her laugh was caustic. “Go back… we’re here, we came all this way, I'm not going back.”

“Alright, well we’ve got about a hundred yards to go, can you make that?” He looked down at her anxiously, cupping her cheek with his hand and forcing her eyes to meet his. 

“Yeah,” she spurred herself, blinking in rapid succession and shaking her head as though to clear her mind. “Let's go!”


	71. December 23, 2015

They ran through the storm, which had gotten so thick, they would have lost each other had they not been clutching onto the other’s hand like a lifeline. Bucky led her out of the Boston Common and up to one of the picturesque houses lining Beacon Street. The State House was just a block away. She didn't have a chance to get a good look at the outside of the house; she noted it was brick and all the windows had shutters closed over them. 

“We're just gonna walk through the front door?” She shouted over the howling wind. The tears running down her face had frozen from the sub-zero temperatures, forming perfect ice crystals on her cheeks. “Yeah,” Bucky yelled back, tugging her up the few front steps that were buried under a foot of snow. 

“How?” She screamed, her voice being carried away in the icy wind. Bucky knew she was in no condition to unlock any doors.

“The lock’s frozen — it'll break.” And he reached out his metal left arm and gripped the old-fashioned, circular doorknob, then twisted. There was a crunch and a drawn out grinding noise that was just audible over the storm. Bellona watched as the door gave way to Bucky’s cyber arm. It clicked open after a minute and Bucky grabbed her by the arm and pushed her in, following right after her and forcing the door shut behind them. 

They tumbled into a dark, silent hallway. Its old hardwood floor gleamed with polish, being well cared for and hardly trod upon. At the end of the hall was a wide, white marble staircase, the change of light from where they stood in the hall and where the stairs were suggested that unseen windows opened up around the staircase. Although because of the dark of the night and the storm outside, the marble stairs remained dappled with shadows. Four pairs of French glass double doors were on both sides of the hallway, black curtains hiding the contents of the room from their observations. 

Bellona Drager suddenly became hyper-aware of her breathing rate. Short gasps were passing in and out of her lips more rapidly than her lungs could handle, and her eyes were flicking around the hallway faster than her brain could process what she was seeing. There was barely anything to see, but her mind was screaming that there was so much, so much for her to see, to recognize, to remember.

“Looks like that caretaker kept it in good shape,” Bucky murmured, only because he had nothing else to say and he felt like the situation required him to speak. Returning to the Drager home caused flashbacks of his assignment here, Maria Drager’s green eyes kept floating before his own, pleading with him for her daughter who wasn't even present at the time. Glancing over at Bells beside him, he wondered if he’d failed or succeeded. Yes, HYDRA had gotten their hands on the Drager’s daughter, but not anymore. And she was alive, safe, and healthy, at least physically. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug to ease her anxious breathing. It took a few minutes for her to relax, and the ice forming around her fingertips to melt away. Bucky had her bracelets in his jacket pocket, though he only liked to use them as a last resort.

“Why ice this time?” He asked quietly when he released her once he felt her heartbeat slow. 

“Because it's snowing outside,” she sniffed, a sad smile on her face. “Anyway, let's… explore.” 

Bucky laughed under his breath, that was so Bells. Return to her former home and she wanted to “explore.” 

His hand gripped her’s tightly, and she refused to let go, needing the physical support to act as emotional support. She took a deep breath, inhaling what felt like stale memories and past emotions, then took a step towards the first set of double doors. 

They found them locked. 

Bellona ground her teeth in frustration, she had traveled all the way to Boston only to be deterred from remembering her parents and her past life by a locked door in her own former home. It was unbelievable. 

She placed her hand over the doorknob again and closed her eyes. After a moment that was longer than usual, the lock clicked inside and the knob responded to her touch, opening and granting them entrance. She took a step inside, Bucky right behind her. 

It was an expansive living room, though it looked like it hadn't been refurbished in decades. Plastic protective covers were over the black leather couch, the two matching reclining chairs on either side of the couch, even over the low glass coffee table in front of the couch. Each of the armchairs had a small glass table on their right side, these also covered in plastic to prevent dust accumulation. The couches and chairs faced a television. Hung up on the wall, it was outdated by now, but would have been on the cutting edge of technology in the 1990’s. On the right side of the room, a bookshelf covered the far wall from floor to ceiling, and two smaller cushioned chairs stood, opposing each other; there were small dark oak tables on the left of each chair, with ornate reading lights on top of them. More plastic covered everything. This side of the room was carpeted from wall to wall in a dark blood-red color, it's richness having been retained throughout the years. A wide window was on the wall to the left of the bookshelves; it had a stale, unused air about it and was partially hidden by heavy navy-colored curtains. The other pair of double doors led back out into the hallway from that side of the room, directly opposite the window. On the left side of the room the wall was brick, a fireplace embedded in the middle, its hearth empty. A loveseat and a single chair, both also black leather to match the rest of the room, were before it. There were two windows on either side of the fireplace, both closed, locked, and shuttered. A Persian carpet was on the gleaming hardwood floor before the loveseat, reaching out to meet the brick of the outstretched fireplace; it's deep blues and vibrant reds were faded and worn by relentless time. 

“Are there enough seats in here?” Bucky joked lightly, looking at every plastic covered piece of furniture, of which there seemed to be an absurd amount.

“Yes,” Bellona breathed, though it wasn’t to answer him. Her eyes had landed on the mantle above the fireplace, where several small photographs were standing in frames. She was there instantly, gazing at the pictures. Bucky was by her side, holding his breath as she stared hungrily at each tiny framed picture. 

It was almost hard to recognize herself. Before 1990, she wore her hair in a variety of different ways. Sometimes it was down, long and flowing in soft waves of chestnut brown — like in the picture of her reclining in one of the chairs across the very room they were in, one leg crossed over the other, a heavy volume in her hands.  _ Les Miserables _ . She couldn't be more than 15. Sometimes it was pulled back in a ponytail — like in the one of her in full hockey equipment, a stick in her hand, she smiled goofily for the camera, a false backdrop behind her had cheering fans and a blue ice surface. Sometimes it was in a tight bun knotted at the back of her head — like in the one of her with a floury pizza dough in her hands. She was standing in a monochrome kitchen, pizza ingredients out before her, there was a dusting of flour on her baggy red tee-shirt and streaks of the white powder on her nose. She was mid-laugh, probably eleven years old.

“Bells…” Bucky tugged at her sleeve, making her slowly turn around. “Look.”

She stared at the wall behind them, and her jaw dropped. She hadn't noticed them when they'd entered, because they’d been directly behind the pair upon entering through the door. More than a dozen picture frames were hanging on the wall. Larger than the ones on the mantle, they stretched across the wall in chronological order, each one carefully selected to represent a snapshot in the life of the Dragers, more specifically, their daughter.

Bellona moved across to this wall immediately, her eyes wide as quarters, as she tried to see every picture at the same time. 

The first photograph in the strategic order was one of a young Maria Drager, in a hospital bed, clutching an infant wrapped in blankets. Only a flailing arm of the infant could be seen. The new mother’s eyes were tired but joyous, and she gazed at the person taking the picture with adoration, love, and relief in her eyes. The next had James Drager in it, holding the infant next to his wife in the hospital bed, he was staring down at the swaddled child with an awed expression. His hair was dark and his face youthful and excited. The pictures progressed, most included at least one parent, some both, all included Bellona Drager. There was one of her, only a few months old, fast asleep on her father’s stomach, who himself was out cold, on the love seat just behind the pair, one hand resting on his sleeping daughter, his other arm hanging off the couch in weightless sleep. Then her first footsteps, her tiny hands waving to maintain balance as the snapshot from behind showed her tottering towards her father unsteadily. There was one of toddler Tony Stark, clutching tightly to her blanket-wrapped infant self, staring down at her with an expression of mixed curiosity and disgust, as his parents looked on, amused smiles on their faces. There was another, when both of them were older, she maybe four and he seven, she was crying and pointing accusingly at Tony, who had a guilty look on his face, his hands behind his back. They continued. She was five years old and dressed as Princess Leia from Star Wars, while James Drager was in a black cape, holding a Darth Vader helmet in his hands, he was mid-laugh as a tiny Bellona pointed excitedly at him. She was nine years old and sitting on the marble white stairs of the house, a German Shepherd puppy sleeping beside her. She was sixteen on the Fourth of July and bedecked in all red, white, and blue, marching down the stairs carrying a full-size American flag, and saluting the camera. She was seventeen, and sitting between her parents at some formal function, Howard Stark was visible in the background. She was in a long royal blue gown, laughing as a boy with caramel hair and a handsome smile tied a corsage to her wrist, then next to it, he was holding her waist and she his hands as they both smiled for the camera — junior prom. 

“Who was the boy?” Bucky asked after they’d walked along the wall and stared at every picture for a full half-hour, nothing but the wind whistling outside.

Bellona stared at the pictures he was in — the prom picture and another, one of her and him, and Tony Stark and a half dozen other teenagers laughing on a yacht in the summer sun. “I… I don’t know… probably my… boyfriend…? Looks like it; I’d never allow a boy that close to me unless I was dating him.”

“Never,” Bucky’s voice was seeping with sarcasm, but Bellona either ignored it or failed to notice it. “And isn’t that….”

“Stark,” she nodded, eyeing the picture Bucky was referring to. She had to be just six and Tony ten, it looked as if their parents had attempted to have them sit still for a professional picture, but the results ended up with each child being infuriated with the other one. A lock of Bellona’s dark hair was being pulled by Tony’s fist, and a furious red mark was on the boy’s cheek, Bellona’s outstretched hand evidently the culprit.

“I didn’t know you were such an athlete,” Bucky continued, warily glancing at Bellona’s face but referring to the several pictures of her in sports equipment. He was surprised by how calm she was, and feared her lack of reaction was because she was failing to remember the images she saw before her. “And I also didn’t know that girls play violent sports like hockey.”

His remark rewarded him a sharp punch to the shoulder.

“Ow!” He complained, releasing her hand to rub his shoulder, she’d targeted his right, not left metal one.

“Say something stupid like that….” she left the threat hanging, turning back to feast her eyes upon the images. She hunted for the images with both her parents, letting her eyes greedily drink in every detail of their appearance. James Drager’s sharp face, broad shoulders, and intelligent hazel eyes. Maria Drager’s cheery green eyes, short brown hair, and kind expression. She let her fingers lightly brush against a frame near the far doors; it showed herself, both her parents on either side of her, all smiling at the camera, a birthday cake with thirteen candles was on the table before Bellona, and a comical party hat was on her head. The small flames that had been frozen mid-flicker by the camera reflected in each of their eyes. James were keen and tactical, happy but hinted at a deep worry buried somewhere. Maria's were bright and content, but also quietly anxious. Bellona’s were sharp and piercing, gazing into the camera with an almost lazy pleasure, unaffected by the nervous worries hidden so well by her parents. 

She stared at this picture the longest, because the emotions had been captured so clearly. As she flicked her now older, matured, and experienced blue eyes between her parent’s expressions, she found herself wondering what they were so worried about. 

Bucky’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. “What was the dog’s name?” He asked, glancing around at the pictures in which the German Shepherd accompanied Bellona. 

“Um…” She frowned, lines appearing on her forehead, as she sought out a picture containing the dog. “I don’t remember….” She then sighed heavily, and tore her eyes away from the photos, walking quickly back towards the doors that led to the hallway. “I want to find more pictures, there has to be more, these are just the ones for show…. There has to be more.” She spoke as if her life depended on this very hope. Bucky nervously followed her out into the hallway, where she had stopped, and stood staring down the other end. “I’ve always had this weird… fondness of white marble….”

He stood watching her for a moment, as she stared down the hall, but he knew the vacant look on her face implied she wasn’t really seeing the marble stairs at the end, but she was searching her mind for memories, a burning nostalgia having been kindled in her eyes.

“Bells, c’mon in here,” Bucky had opened the double doors on the other side of the hallway. He peeked in the room, spotting a long wooden table, gleaming with polish, with what looked like several large books on top it. He glanced back at Bells, she had snapped out of her mental perusing and was following him meekly, a strange, disturbed look on her face, like she was experiencing a sense of dé-jà vu but couldn't quite place it. 

They stepped softly into the dark room, the locked and shuttered windows lining the opposing wall admitted no light into the room, only the occasional creak from the blasting of icy winds outside. 

“Dining room,” Bellona observed the obvious aloud, her eyes turning around the room. A plastic protective covering was over the table, but underneath, it shone with well-polished care. Tall, straight-backed chairs were around it, enough to seat ten on each side, plus two more, one on either end. The other pair of double doors opened further down the wall, to the left of the room at the far end, was a wide, single door, wooden and with a golden doorknob that matched the gold chandelier that hung from the middle of the ceiling, dropping glimmering crystals down towards the table. 

Bucky had already moved over towards the large books placed down on the table, and he quickly realized they weren't mere books. Picking one up and flipping it open, he was astonished to find dozens of photos, cut out and pasted into the book, like some sort of intense scrapbook. It didn't take long for him to discover just what the scrapbook was dedicated to. Bellona Drager was centerpiece in every photo pasted into the book. He dropped the one he held to the table, where it fell with a heavy thunk, then he flipped open another — the same discovery. And with the next, and the next and the next one. Bellona was already at his side, leaning over his arm and staring at the photos as he flipped through them all. 

She was fourteen and walking down the marble staircase, a hand running through her hair, her eyes on the floor before her, the Shepherd trotting down the stairs before her. She was fifteen and walking the same dog down the street, towards the camera but seemingly unaware of it. She was sixteen and sitting in one of the chairs at that very table, shuffling through a pile of papers before her. The person with the camera was to her left, as if standing at the double doors at the far end of the room. The shot caught her profile perfectly, the long hair, the sculpted shape of her jaw and cheekbones, the straight nose and hard line of her lips. She was sitting on top of a table in the monochrome kitchen, an iced coffee clutched in one hand, giving the camera an annoyed look, as if not wanting her picture to be taken. She was seventeen and on her way out the door, apparently for school, a backpack slung over her shoulder, a baseball cap on her head, her hair was done in a single, long French braid, dark jeans were tucked into tall rubber boots, and a black windbreaker….

Bucky dropped the photo book. Bellona gasped in surprise at his sudden movement, the book thundered down onto the table with an accusing thud and Bucky collapsed heavily  into the nearest seat, astonishing the blue-eyed girl. 

“Bucky?” She asked, eyes worried, “what…?”

“Look at the pictures,” was all he could croak out before he dropped his head into his hands, his long hair swinging over his face. 

Bellona paused, watching him nervously for a moment before turning back to the photos. She pulled the book he’d dropped towards her and studied the open page. Every page had at least five photos pasted onto it, and they were all dated. Her eyes scanned them. Seeing herself, looking almost the same as she did now, minus the hard, experienced look in her eyes and in her mien. She was walking through the front door, her hand reaching up to take off her aviator sunglasses. She was sitting on the loveseat, watching a crackling fire, the picture taken from the side, the fire flickering against her pale profile. There were several close ups of her face, her blue eyes dominating every one. In some she was smiling, in most she was without emotion, as if not expecting her picture to be taken. The earliest photograph was dated to when she was nine years old. The latest was dated December 2, 1991. Then it dawned on her. 

“Who… who took these?” She murmured, looking up at Bucky. He was still bent over at the table, clutching his head silently. He could merely shrug, unwilling to look up at her. She stared at his figure for a moment before turning back to the books. A sudden thought struck her and she seized every album, dragging them towards her and flipping through all of them with rapid speed. In every one she wasn't expecting the shot, either glaring at the camera or not looking. In every one, her face and figure were well pictured, clearly visible, the lighting well enough to reveal her facial features to the camera. In every one, she was the main character —  _ the target.  _

“Intelligence,” the word escaped her lips like a curse, cutting through the silence as a blasphemed profanity. “Don't you see what this is?” She had turned to Bucky, and stabbed a damning finger down at the albums, “intelligence, being collected on me… for HYDRA — who else. None of these are before I was nine years old, all of them were taken without my knowing…. But…  _ who  _ took them?” The question echoed around the room. The last thing either of them expected was for it to be answered. 


	72. December 23, 2015

“ _ Diavolo…  _ Bellona?” The voice was scratchy, heavily accented, and frail. Bellona spun around to where the voice had come, adopting a defensive position, while Bucky simply lifted his head slightly to glance at the newcomer: a wizened, bent, little old lady with wisps of white hair around her head, a shock of wrinkles, and deep set, earthy brown eyes that were still lively despite her elderly age. She had to be well into her eighties. She carried a cane but held it loosely in her hands, not depending on its support.

“Who are you?” Bellona demanded, crossing her arms and drawing herself up to her full height, which, Bucky observed, was only a full inch taller than the elderly Italian woman. 

“ _ Bella, _ ” the lady shook her aged head, “you do not know me?” 

“No, why should I?” Bellona barked harshly. “Who are you, why are you here?” Then she pointed to the open photo books spread out across the table. “Who took these?”

There was a pregnant pause, silence despite the raging storm outside, until the woman finally gave the fuming girl an answer.

“I took them.”

“What?” Bellona snapped, “ _ who are you? _ ”

The lady muttered under her breath in Italian for a minute — “I understand Italian perfectly well,” the blue-eyed girl threatened, “and yes,  _ they  _ did do plenty of work on me, if you’re referring to HYDRA, that is.”

The woman drew herself up to her full height, forcing her bent back to straighten, though she sustained the effort for only a few moments. “ _Bella,_ I was with you your whole life, I helped raise you, picked you up when you fell, babysat you for your parents, watched you grow up and experience life…. My name is Sofia Ottani, and I’ve been the Drager household caretaker since before you were born.”

The woman lapsed into silence, now leaning heavily on her cane, and staring at Bellona Drager with wide, almost surprised brown eyes. It was a while before Bellona spoke. She stood silently, gazing across the room at the elderly Italian housekeeper, a vacant expression on her face. Bucky was quiet, he had risen to his feet and was standing beside Bellona, his eyes swiveling from her to Sofia Ottani, trying to gauge their next actions.

“So,” the Drager’s daughter flicked one of her braids over her shoulder and let her hands drop to the back of the chair before her, fingers curling around the hard oak, only her white knuckles hinting at the inner rage sweeping through her. “All I’m hearing is that the Drager housekeeper betrayed them to HYDRA. May I ask —  _ why? _ ”

The housekeeper teetered forwards, relying on her cane for support now, she only took a few steps. “ _ Bella,  _ do you remember what you did when you were nine years old?”

“Why would I remember what I did when I was nine if I don’t remember who you are? That is, if you are who you claim to be.” Her voice was cold and calculating. Bucky gave her a nervous look; nothing good followed when her voice had gone straight to icy wrath. Cold anger was calculated, hot anger was not.

“A gasoline truck was coming down the street. Your puppy, do you remember your dog? He was still a puppy then, he was loose, and ran into the street — and the truck was coming. You ran after him, but it was too late. The truck was coming. _ Bella,  _ you raised your hand, like this,” the woman raised her right hand in imitation of Bellona’s actions. “And the truck… explodes.”

“How does any of that relate?” Bellona asked, a threatening tremor creeping into her voice.

Sofia nodded, as if planning to continue already. “HYDRA, HYDRA heard about the accident, they have eyes everywhere. Ears everywhere. They knew, you were special… not normal…. Your powers were very strong, but you used them however you wanted. You knew… after your puppy ran into the street, others knew….”

“And what, you told HYDRA you would sell me out? Sell my parents out?”

“HYDRA came to me… with a request… to spy on Bellona Drager, be rewarded greatly… I could not resist.”

Bellona gave Sofia a look of utter disgust. “That’s not the only reason: because they’d reward you. What else? Why else would you completely betray a family who supposedly trusted you?”

The Italian woman paused, gripping her cane with both hands, she turned her gaze away from the beautiful girl with the cold, frozen eyes and looked down at the floor, as if summoning courage from its glossy hardwood that she had buffed so many times in her career. When she looked up again, her mouth was set in a firm, determined line. “The truck driver, of that truck you exploded, died… like that.” She had released one hand from her cane and snapped her shaky fingers.

“So?”

“That driver… was my son.”

“So you decided to sell us out to HYDRA? Because I accidentally caused your son’s death?”

“You killed my son, trying to save your little dog.”

“I wasn’t deliberately trying to kill your son, like you said, I was only trying to save my dog and that’s just how things turned out. I didn’t know-”

“Why is your dog worth more than my son?”

“I never said that!” Bellona’s scream cut through the room like a whip, and Bucky immediately moved to place a warning hand on her shoulder. She was losing the cool, chilly anger that usually meant danger, and reverting to blazing, passionate ire that was bound to have regrettable consequences for all of them. Already, flames were beginning to flicker around her fingertips.

“Bells,” Bucky murmured in warning, but she cut him off, spurred into a rage by the little woman before them.

“So you had to sell us out to HYDRA? For that? How was I supposed to know that driver was your son? I was just trying to save my dog!”

“And I lost my only son,” Sofia replied, in a calm, reasonable voice, “because the life of your puppy mattered more to you.”

“I was _nine_. My dog… _Bismarck —_ Bismarck was like my brother, I _loved_ him.”

“Any more than I loved my son?”

That was it, the woman knew she had gone too far, Bucky knew as well. There was a supersonic booming noise that seemed to tear the air in the very room apart, and flames were crackling around Bellona’s hands. Jerking herself away from Bucky, she took a threatening step towards the woman, and exploded. “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SELL US OUT TO HYDRA, DID YOU? SO YOU GOT YOUR PETTY REVENGE, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT? YOU STILL LIVE HERE, POLISHING THE DAMN TABLE AND FLOORS… LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT WHAT I’VE BECOME — THIS IS THE RESULT OF YOUR VENGEANCE: I’VE BECOME A SUPER WEAPON WITH NO MEMORIES, NO PARENTS, AND NO HOPE. YOUR SON’S DEATH LOOKS LIKE A TRAGIC FARCE COMPARED TO WHAT ELSE I’VE DONE FOR HYDRA. YOU WEREN’T EVEN DOING IT OUT OF LOVE FOR YOU SON, NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU TELL YOURSELF THAT, NO, YOU WERE DOING IT OUT OF ANGER, VENGEANCE, AND  _ FEAR. _ ”

“And now you stand before me, guilty of all three emotions,” Sofia replied, a hint of accusation in her tone. The air had begun to spark and hiss, lending to the room the stifling scent of ozone. Bucky had slowly backed away from Bellona, though he reached into his pocket to clutch the cold metal of her bracelets anyways.

The Italian woman gave the fuming Bellona a sharp glance upon observing the change in the atmosphere. “You've always had a nasty temper,” she stated calmly, completely circumnavigating Bellona’s accusatory outburst. “Though I've always seen you like the ocean.  _ La mare _ . You are calm and cool, but furious like a storm when stirred up.”

“Tell me,” Bellona spat through her teeth, “did you get your vengeance? Did revenge feel as good as you hoped? Did revenge bring back your son?”

Sofia Ottani seemed to deflate like a wrinkled balloon that had already lost most of its air. She stared down at her hands clutching her cane, hands that were plagued by arthritis and sprinkled with age spots. Then she looked back up at the snarling girl with flashing blue eyes and flames licking at the sleeves of her jacket from her bare hands, and at the grizzly looking man beside her, who was watching the girl with the alertness of an owner observing his dog’s aggressive actions towards another canine, ready to intervene if necessary. And she knew they would be the last people she would ever see. 

“The day that man walked into this house for the first time was the day I was condemned to  _ inferno, _ ” she spoke at last, pointing a rickety finger at Bucky Barnes, whose eyes widened at the sudden mention of himself, guilt threatening to overtake his reaction readiness. He took a forceful step forward and snatched up Bellona’s right hand; the flames flickering on her skin did naught to harm his metal arm. “Because that was when I realized the true intent of HYDRA. My want for revenge meant nothing once Maria and James were gone. I loved them like my own family. But you… I wanted you to suffer… for what you did to my son…  _ mio figlio _ … And then last year everything was released to the public… how you were running around with your parent’s killer like how your little puppy ran into the street so many years ago, killing more people. More people’s sons. And my revenge….” Here she paused, shaking her head slightly, “only caused another mother’s son to die. And so many more…. So no, Bella, my revenge was not as good as I hoped, and nothing in this world can bring back  _ mio figlio _ ….” There was a sudden roar of a silence before the Drager housekeeper raised a trembling finger again and directed it this time at the two of them; Bucky Barnes clutching onto Bellona Drager’s hand as though to dissuade her from decapitating the old woman. The Drager housekeeper’s next words resounding throughout the room as if she were a prophetess foretelling the final apocalypse. “Nothing can bring back my son… but evil, though it be hand in hand, will not go unpunished….” 

Sofia Ottani knew those would be her last words. She saw the synergy that existed between the two standing at the far end of the room. Their body positioning, the subtle glances, the unconscious movements. Energy seemed to flow seamlessly between them, and she recognized the emotion that swirled around in their layered eyes, even if they could not identify it themselves. She had loved her son, and still did. And she would have done anything for her son, and did. The easiest way to raise not only a reaction but an action from anybody is to go after who they love. So Sofia nipped at the heels of the girl’s mate and the bitch brought her teeth down. 

The fire vanished from Bellona’s palm the second she thrust her free hand upwards, fingers spread wide, she looked Sofia Ottani directly in the eyes, reading the understanding, the cunning, the relief in them, and she closed her hand into a fist. 

The elderly Drager housekeeper crumbled to the ground immediately. 

“Bells!” Bucky shouted; the two actions had taken place so quickly, he hadn't even realized Bellona had acted. And he had mistakenly believed his grip on her hand would have prevented anything drastic.

“Bucky!” She mocked him, dark satisfaction on her face.

“What did you  _ do? _ ”

“Got my own petty revenge.”

“Is she….”

“Oxygen removal from the lungs,” Bellona smiled sweetly, giving him a saucy wink. “You know who I learned that one from.”

“Christ,” he breathed, shaking his head and staring at the body of the elderly woman. Her face and neck had turned purple, her eyes still. Death had already seized her, delivered by the tiny girl at his side. It was her first and only deliberate kill without his ordering it.

“Let's continue,” Bellona hummed nonchalantly, stepping over the body of the former Drager housekeeper, practically dragging Bucky by the hand after her so she could turn the knob of the door at the far end of the room. Bucky followed after her with a heavy sigh. He knew the gravity of Bells’ actions would overcome her shortly, so he quietly pulled the bracelets from his pocket and held them ready in his hand. 

Bellona spun through the monochrome kitchen with the fury of a tornado, ripping open cabinets and the expansive refrigerator with an aggressive anger, scanning their contents as if taking fierce inventory. The stove, fridge, and other appliances were matching black, while the floor was tiled white linoleum, matching the walls and granite countertops. Dark wooden bar stools were at the long counter that extended out to an island in the middle, on the other side was a small table that could sit four, also made of dark oak. A fruit bowl was in the middle of the table, holding only ruby red apples. Closer inspection proved them to be plastic. There were three other doors leading off of the kitchen, one to a courtyard that was buried under a foot of snow, the other Bellona assumed lead to the basement, the last led back out to the foot of the marble staircase.

“Let's go upstairs,” She declared with the cool command of a military officer, leading Bucky out of this last door. There was a sudden howl of wind outside, shaking the very house itself as Bellona approached the white marble stairs that led up to a landing, then curled around in two separate ways, both leading to the second floor. The minute her thick-soled boot landed upon the first marble step, she lurched forward, stumbling and falling downwards. Bucky, expecting just that, caught her by the waist before she could hit the cold marble, pulled her up and settled her down gently on the stairs, settling down beside her and pulling her trembling body into a hug. They were silent for a minute as she shook like a twig in a storm, the house around them trembled and creaked in sync with her; Bucky didn't know if the storm was affecting Bells’ reaction or if Bells was affecting the storm’s intensity. 

“Oh my God,” she moaned after a few moments of hiding her head in the crook of his arm. “I… I… I remember her now….” 

“Shh, it's okay Bells,” Bucky murmured, carefully rocking her back and forth. “Relax….” She hadn't noticed he had noiselessly slipped the bracelets onto her wrists and was holding her hands in his metal left, massaging them calmly. 

“I… I  _ killed  _ her….” Her voice was horrified. 

“She sold you and your family out to HYDRA,” Bucky reminded her. “She said she wanted you to suffer.” 

“But I didn't want to  _ murder  _ her!” She cried out, her hands flinching to grasp at her head but Bucky’s left arm flexed, keeping her hands locked inside his. “Haven't I… haven't we done enough killing?”

Bucky sighed deeply, a grim look on his face, and remained silent, tightening his grip around the shaking girl. 

“She… she  _ knew, _ ” Bellona murmured after a few moments and her trembling had steadied. She glanced up at Bucky, “she knew I was gonna kill her. She did it on purpose, she said that deliberately — the bit about evil…. How dare she… she knew, she knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That… it's hard to explain,” Bellona muttered, shaking her head. 

“Bells… do you… remember anything?” Bucky asked with cautious curiosity. 

Bellona froze, her trembling had ceased completely and her heartbeat was steady. She blinked slowly, her blue eyes a maelstrom of memories. “I remember my dog, Bismarck… I named him that because he was a German Shepherd so I wanted to give him a German name… I remember Sofia… and playing sports, and some of my friends…. But dimly, like it was all a movie I watched years ago and can only recall a few characters and some of the plot line… Bucky…?”

“Yeah?” He asked nervously, because he knew what she was about to ask.

“Why did you react… the way you did, when you saw those pictures?” She was watching him carefully, and he looked into her eyes and saw his answer floating there, so he forced himself to utter it aloud. 

“I was briefed… before my mission, you know, to kidnap you, with those very pictures, so I could identify….”

“Me,” she finished for him, with a grave but understanding smile. Then she closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. When she opened her eyes again, their blue was calm and clear. “What did you… um, think of me? Before the mission, when you were briefed?”

Bucky paused, moving his eyes away from hers to stare down at the white marble for a moment. “Well, nothing, really. Maybe I thought that it was strange, for a mission, kidnapping a teenager. But… I remember thinking that you looked like a target I could recognize even without being briefed… and then, after we’d been in the car for a while… I remember being really annoyed, you were so irritating, you wouldn't shut up, even when threatened, your voice… was like a dozen bells, ringing through my head… it drove me insane…”

“Bells,” she mused, a teasing smile on her face.

“Yeah,” he grinned, leaned forward, and placed a fond kiss on her forehead. “Ever since then I referred to you as Bells.”

“Good thing it goes with my name,” she laughed delightedly, and Bucky was relieved to see her handling the situation so well. “Let's keep going, I wanna find my room.”

Bucky stood, pulling her up with him and placed her on her feet at the foot of the stairs. He snatched her hand with his metal left and they both bounded up the stairs together, arriving at the landing in a mere heartbeat. “Left or right?” He asked, looking down at her. 

Bellona smirked mischievously, and he felt her muscles flex and laughed aloud when she looked over at the wrist of her hand he held, shocked to find a bracelet on it. “When did you put those on?”

“A few minutes ago,” Bucky replied, “why do you think the house hasn't burnt down and I'm alive?”

“Oh,” she said, suddenly self-conscious. “Well I was gonna send a slight electric shock through your arm, so you would be forced to release my hand, then I would have said that I'll race you to the top, and I would have gone up the left and you the right.…”

“Or… this,” he said simply, leaning down and picking her up, swinging her legs over his right arm, her shoulders against his left, he then sprinted up the right side of the staircase, while she flung her arms around his neck and complained about how unfair his actions were. He let her drop to the ground once they reached the top. The two staircases curled around and let out onto a wide landing that narrowed to a long hallway that led down the length of the house. The floor here was thickly carpeted in patterned scarlet and white squares. There were four doors, two on each side, but only two were sets of double doors. 

“Now what?” Bucky asked in a voice that resembled how one would speak at a funeral; the atmosphere certainly felt as though they were kneeling before a closed casket of the past. 

“We start,” Bellona replied, licking her dry lips and taking the first step forward. They approached the first door, a single one, on the left first. Bucky opened it, finding it unlocked. The door swung open to reveal a modestly furnished bedroom. A queen size bed in the middle of the room, a desk and chair pushed against the wall on the left side of the room, a wardrobe to the right of the bed, and a cushioned chair in need of new upholstery next to it. An ajar door to the right led to a small private bathroom. 

“Guest room?” Bellona seemed to gain confidence in her guess the more she observed the room. “Definitely. Let's keep going.” She turned and led Bucky back out and across the hallway, to the other single door on the opposite side of the hall. “Another guest room?”

“Nope,” Bucky answered when they had opened the door and peeked into what was evidently a shared office. Two desks were on opposing sides of the room, swivel chairs behind both, each facing what were now ancient computers. Multiple filing cabinets took up the far wall of the office, in between the desks. There was a bookshelf on the left wall, with a door leading into the adjacent room in the middle of it. Pausing in the middle of her observations, Bellona strode forward, Bucky beside her, and snatched up a small picture frame that stood beside the computer on the desk on the right side of the room. It was a photo of James Drager holding his daughter as a toddler, they were both smiling at the camera, Bellona was laughing and James’ eyes were sparkling happily. 

Bellona dropped the picture frame back onto the desk, where it toppled over, falling in its glass face. Bucky flinched, expecting the frame to break, and slumped his tensed shoulders when it did not. 

“My parents’ office,” Bellona announced in a terse tone. “I don't want to be in here right now.” She gave Bucky a pleading look and he gently led her out of the office, and closed the door behind them. 

They silently walked down the hall, the carpet muffling their footsteps. They paused outside the doors on the right, Bellona had outstretched her hand towards the gleaming golden door handles, but then snatched it back quickly. “This is my parents room….” She didn't have to explain to him that she did not wish to enter it, so they turned around to face the last pair of doors in the hallway. The dark oak wood seemed to invite them forward, eagerly bidding them to enter. 

Bellona took a deep breath, tightened her grip on Bucky's metal hand, reached forward, and tugged on the handle. 

It was locked. 

“Dammit!” Bellona shouted, the pitch of her voice revealing how much emotional turmoil was boiling within her. She groaned, jerking the handle uselessly for a moment to release her frustration. Eventually she gave it up and sighed, seeming to deflate; she sank back into Bucky’s reassuring embrace. 

“Hey, relax,” he murmured in her ear, “this door looks like it hasn't been opened in years… if anyone can open it, you can.” He had wordlessly slipped off the bracelet on her left hand, and, holding her hand in his, he placed her fingers over the handle.

There was a satisfying click. 

Bellona did not remove her hand from Bucky's. “Put it back on,” she ordered, and he complied without arguing. Then she gripped the handle of the left door and pushed. 

The room was dark. A rush of stale air surged out to greet them, air that hadn't circulated since 1991. Bucky had to gently push Bellona into the room, and he flicked on the light switch upon finding it. 

The light flickered on, allowing the pair a quick glance of the large room around them before it sparked out and plunged them into darkness. 

“Dammit,” it was Bucky’s turn to express his annoyance. “That light hasn't been turned on since-”

“Nineteen ninety one,” she muttered, and Bucky could feel her anxiety building, he could smell the faint scent of ozone and cold that surrounded her hair, and knew that it would be impossible to take the bracelets off her wrists at the moment. 

Wind whistled outside, shaking the very building with its threatening tempestuousness, and a silence descended upon the dark room. It was broken only by a whimper from the returned Drager. The sound was torn from her lips against her permission, a vocal expression of the sudden agony that ripped through her, the apex of years of torture, death, suffering, and blood, culminated to where she stood now, in a room where she had last stood twenty four years ago, before HYDRA, before the brands, before the kidnapping, before everything. It felt wrong. She felt as though just by stepping over the threshold, she was tainting the virgin innocence of the room with her nefarious presence, as though the blood of those she'd killed and helped to kill was dripping off her hands onto the soft carpet on which she stood, gazing into the dark abyss of her past. 

She wasn't aware of Bucky scooping her up and carrying her over to where he'd spotted the king-size bed with ivory covers until the soft mattress was beneath her and Bucky was beside her, his arms wrapped around her, whispering soothing words into her ear. She fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, ignoring the screams of memories being unburied and the glimpses of her past peeking out of the dark corners of the room she once called her own. 


	73. December 24, 2015

Light slowly creeped through the cracks of the windows. This was apparently the only room where the windows hadn't been shuttered. A pure, luminous light filtered through them, filling the room with the brilliance of the white snow outside. The storm had subsided for the most part, only soft, picturesque flurries remained, drifting down onto the buried city. 

It was early when Bucky snapped his eyes open, awakened by the beams of light that shone into the room, illuminating the details of Bellona’s bedroom for the first time. He immediately glanced down at Bells, in his arms, who was still in a deep sleep, a frown etched across her face, her head rested against his chest; he was nevertheless relieved to find her relaxed and calm. He shifted slightly, pulling her into a more comfortable position against him, then settled on studying the room around them. 

Directly over the king-size bed on the cream-colored wall hung a full size American flag. He stared up at it for a long moment, the irony flashing through his mind at what its presence meant in comparison to the last few decades of Bells’ life. The light was streaming in through the two wide windows on either side of the bed, dark silver curtains hung open on the sides of each. Directly across the bed were the double doors through which they'd entered, a poster hung above the doors, it was an enlarged black and white photo of a hockey rink, with one of the players flying through the air, seemingly in celebration, in the middle. He made a mental note to ask Bells what it was then continued observing. To the right of the bed was a closed door with a long mirror on the outside, a large, bright red beanbag chair was on the floor to the right of this door, half wedged in the corner of the room, a small pile of books lay on the wall to wall plush ivory carpet beside it. On the other side of this door, the wall was covered with a built-in bookshelf from floor to ceiling. It extended along the length of the wall, then curved around with the corner of the room, and continued towards the door they’d entered through. Another beanbag chair, this one an ocean blue, lay on the floor before the shelves, directly in the corner of the room, where the shelf turned at a ninety degree angle with the wall. The bookshelf was bursting with books, it looked as if the collection had begun neat and orderly, with books ordered by content — he could spot a few titles from across the room, especially of the huge thesauruses and encyclopedias on everything from American military history to famous musicians of the twentieth century. Then the shelf got messier, with books stacked on top of each other in irregular ways, books piled in front of others, books wedged in between the shelf and other books. To the left of the bed, in the corner farthest away from it, was a desk, with a comfortable swivel chair behind it, so whoever sat in it could command a view of the entire room, their back to the corner. The desk was a dark oak like the woodwork around the doors, and had papers and books strewn across it in a haphazard way, as though someone had placed them there without caring about their organization or importance. An ornate light, like the ones down in the living room was also on the desk. There was another door, also with a full length mirror on it, to the right of the desk, and the stretch of wall from this door to the entrance double doors was covered in posters and photos. He recognized some of the posters, the iconic Rosie the Riveter, a retro Star Wars poster from the original movies, a black and white poster of a group of US soldiers raising a flag, and one of four men in long suits crossing a street lined with trees and a few cars. Photographs had been tacked onto the wall around these posters, most seemed to be of Bells and groups of her friends. He spotted the honey-haired boy in a few, Tony Stark in multiple, and her German Shepherd in more. His eyes continued his sweep of the room. There was another ornate lamp, matching the one on the desk, on the nightstand directly to the left of the bed, as well as an alarm clock that was still plugged in. The time read 06:17, and he found it amusing that Bells had kept her alarm clock in military time. A small leather-bound notebook and a ballpoint pen lay on the nightstand, along with a handheld dictionary and a paperback copy of  _ Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea _ by Jules Verne. His curiosity brimming over, he slowly reached across, careful to not disturb the still sleeping Bells, and picked up the small notebook. His left arm around its owner, his right hand flicked open the cover, where, written in dense, cramped script, were the words “ _ property of Bellona R. Drager — November 23, 1988.” _

Something about this neat, practiced cursive told him that this date was her birthday. Bucky silently turned the page, and froze, his eyes widening as he stared down at the letters scrawled across the pages. He couldn't read any of it, it certainly wasn't in English, and it definitely wasn't even the English alphabet, but somehow, it  _ looked _ like English. If one had merely glanced at the page and not read any of it, they could have mistaken it for English. After a few minutes of flipping through the pages, each one filled with the same script, he recognized it. Bells had written in Greek. He wasn't sure if it was the actual Greek language, but it was definitely the Greek alphabet. The recognizable pi and delta letters gave it away. He still couldn't read any of it. Only the dates were readable, the first one being the same as the date she received the notebook, the last date being December 2, 1991, 03:14 hours. It amused him that Bells had to be so exact as to put the time of each entry, and he wondered why she was awake at that time of night, then, as he quietly dropped the notebook back onto the nightstand, in a sudden, violent flashback he remembered what he was doing on December 2, 1991. 

Maria Drager’s green eyes flashed before his own. Pleading, begging, cajoling. In the moment he hadn't taken the time to identify the emotions in her eyes, too intent on the mission. It wasn't until later, when the nightmares plagued him and the demons sank their fangs into his brain and laughed at him, that he realized that Maria Drager would have given anything for her daughter’s safety. And she had. But the life had scarcely left her eyes before the Winter Soldier had headed out for phase two of the mission. He wondered what Maria Drager would think now, of her daughter, tortured, experimented on, and branded by HYDRA and SHIELD, now lying back in her old bed, in the arms of the man who had murdered both her and her husband. 

“I'm fucking starving.” Her voice took him by surprise, making him flinch slightly; he hadn't expected her to wake for a while longer. 

“You're awake,” he stated the obvious, reverting his gaze from where he was staring up at the solemn American flag and fixing his eyes on her. 

“Thanks for noticing,” she snorted and pushed her hands against his ribs, forcing his metal arm to relax and allow her to roll away from him. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, her eyes blinking blearily as she studied the room around her. Bucky observed her face intently, attempting to gauge her internal emotional reaction to seeing her former bedroom again. He spotted waves of nostalgia amongst the whirlpool of wonder, melancholy, and something else that gave him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, before she hopped off the bed and strode across the room to one of the closed doors. The aggressive fluidity of her gait made him not question her movements. She opened the door, flicked the light switch on and studied the interior of the private bathroom, before marching to the other door on the opposing side and opening it to reveal a walk in closet. She was muttering to herself as she browsed through the closet before walking out with her preferred sweatpants and a baggy tee-shirt with a faded sport’s logo on it. She banged the door behind her as she locked herself in the bathroom, and Bucky was silent as he heard taps being turned on and off and water running through the door. Bells emerged thirty minutes later looking no less irritated than when she entered. She didn’t look at Bucky, who hadn’t moved an inch, only watched and waited quietly. Then she tugged open one of the doors leading out to the hall and exited the room without a word.

Bucky silently pulled himself off the bed after a few moments of being frozen from the shock of the rigid coldness of Bellona’s actions, and slowly treaded out of the room and into the hall. He had an ominous feeling in the back of his mind.

He found her at the end of the hall, motionless, a bare, pale hand stretched out to grasp the top of the banister of the white marble stairs like a lifeline. Her head was bowed, and though she was not facing him, he knew her eyes were closed. Her braids were hanging down her back, like two living chestnut chains of energy, awaiting their release upon a chosen enemy. Her shoulders were thrown back as her muscles trembled their stress, her right hand was dangling by her side, her fingers clenched into a half-formed fist of agony. She was tiny, but in that moment, in the trembles of her fingers and in the tremors running down her braids, she seemed capable of making the Great Fire of London look like a tragic farce, a pathetic kitchen fire in the face of a threatening, gaping, howling inferno that she could unleash with a mere snap of her fingers.

And he realized her bracelets were nowhere to be seen. The devilish symbols on her wrist stark against her creamy skin and the unblemished white of the marble stairs before her. They seemed to pulse with heartbeats of their own when she jerked her head upwards, gazing at the ornate chandelier that dropped down from the ceiling towards the stairs like a decorative waterfall of silver, jewels, and lightbulbs. 

At this action, he froze in his tracks, about halfway down the hall towards her, knowing that despite his silent footfalls, she was more than aware of his presence behind her. He stared at her with bated breath. Something about the rapid movement of her head upwards seemed to invite violence, it was like the cocking of a gun, ready to shoot — all he had to do was pull the trigger. 

“Bells?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but he knew, the moment the syllables were launched from his mouth, that they were the only trigger she’d need. 

He had only wondered on a few rare occasions what it would be like having Bellona Drager’s rage directed at you. To be at the deliberate receiving end of her elemental wrath, subject to whichever form of expression of power she decided upon. 

It seemed almost unnatural to have her turn on him. Like some horrible malfunction of programming, a terrifying rebellion against the status quo between them, a deadly disruption of the control complex HYDRA had given him over her. She wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to turn on him; he was  _ supposed  _ to control her. When her burning eyes met his, instead of the synchronized connection clicking somewhere in their minds, it was like the gears in her head had stopped, refusing to lock into place with those in his, grinding to a halt and even straining to reverse directions, to snarl and groan against the engineered landscape of their brains. 

Her right hand, the one usually enclosed in his metal left, was raised towards him, her fingers outstretched like she was reaching out to him, except it felt like she had leaned across the hall and clasped her hands around his throat, threatening to choke him. He found himself slammed against the wall at the far end of the hallway, in between the doors leading to her parents former room and to hers. And then she was before him, her face inches from his, this time her hand gripped the exposed skin of his throat, holding him against the wall with flaming molecules of air. Her fingers were like red-hot brands ingraining themselves into his vulnerable flesh, he felt pressure growing in his lungs as though her hand was becoming a lethal vacuum, sucking every last molecule of oxygen from his body.

“I could have killed you, you know,” her words were a serpentine hiss as her eyes glittered like sapphire snake scales, venomous and deadly. He found himself unable to look away, captured by their toxicity. “That day you kidnapped me… it would have been so  _ easy  _ too. Only I didn’t know then, I didn’t know I had it in me to murder someone….”

His vision was beginning to blur, spots of midnight and scarlet dancing around the edges of his pupils, approaching but not encroaching upon the two lakes of frozen blue ice that were her eyes. His ribs were restrictive, his lungs deflating, his diaphragm screeching for a taste of oxygen, his brain screaming in the face of danger, but the danger was the tiny girl before him whom he’d sworn, unknowingly to Maria Drager but consciously to himself, he would keep safe.

The worst thing was, he didn’t know if he did it himself. Or if whatever HYDRA had put inside him had chosen to act, like a virus does, to ensure its own survival, to ensure its own dominance. It was like a nightmare, one moment he was seconds away from suffocating, the next, he’d collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath because his metal arm had risen and swung at Bellona Drager, knocking her away from him with enough force to send her flying down the hall. 

He glanced up in an instant and spotted her, crouched on the floor with an expression of unequivocal shock, her braids tumbling down past her shoulders, her lips parted slightly in astonishment and disconcertment, though it was still her eyes that told him everything. His newly found breath vaporized in his throat as he stared into her wrathful blue eyes as though he were gazing into the eyes of incensed demon from the blazing fires of hell — and he was its prey. 

Something about the act of physical violence seemed to cause her to forget she could have him completely at her mercy with a simple snap of her fingers. He found her charging down the hall towards him, snarling with white-hot rage as her lips curled into a diabolic growl. He had never fought her, not truly, not with live emotion fueling her every swing, every punch. She hit him like a battering ram, a perfect instrument of physical assault with a bubbling, demoniac anger as her motive power. They grappled for what seemed like hours. He spent more time blocking her advances with his left arm, not daring to revert into an offensive position; until he realized he had to. The demon crashing and sneering its way through her blue eyes was relentless, so after ducking around a heavy blow directed at his jaw, he aimed a punch at her upper forearm, hard enough to be noticeable, but careful not to knock her into the wall behind them.

He was aghast when all his landing of a hit managed to do was infuriate her further. So he convinced himself that he had to do it, and made the fight even, instead of a single offender and defender, he weighed the scale so it was now two equals combating each other, though he retained the use of his left arm for defense alone.

He hesitated when he smelled blood. The scarlet liquid was evident upon Bellona’s knuckles, and was dripping down onto her palms and trickling onto the bare skin of her wrists and forearms, dribbling around the brands and bloodying them — he caught a glimpse of the ruby HYDRA head which seemed to leer out at him in sanguineous mockery, as though proudly taking the contemptuous responsibility for bringing the pair of them to this. Her flesh had shredded itself from her constant pounding upon his metal arm, which he’d been utilizing to block her incessant onslaught. Drops and smears of her blood speckled his cyber arm, gleaming wickedly against its silver metal, taunting and condemning him. In the cherry red of her blood he saw Maria Drager’s olive eyes pleading with him….

“Bells!” He snapped, dodging around her strike and warily moving away to stare at her. The demons’ possession of her seemed intransigent, but the sound of his voice made her straighten and glare at him with the unforgiving chips of ice her eyes had become. And then the temperature in the hall had dropped drastically and her eyes were no longer the only thing that were ice — evidently she remembered how effective her elemental powers could be. She was barrelling towards him with shards of sharp, deadly ice jumping about her hands; he’d never seen her look so eager to maim, to kill, to murder.

He hit her. Again. With his metal arm. Just as she flung out a sinister cloud of icy air towards him. He dove downwards to avoid it, hitting the floor hard. She was thrown across the hallway and impacted the wall with a low-pitched bang, crumbling to the floor in a heap of brunette braids, blue ice, and bloodied skin. The icy energy she’d unleashed vanished immediately, dissipating into the air as though it had never existed. 

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved from their positions on the floor of the hall. Bucky failed to realize he was holding his breath as Bellona twitched her head up to look at him. Blood was oozing down the side of her face, mixing with the loose strands of her hair, a fresh bruise was darkening on her cheek, and her lip had split open long ago, staining her lips like rich wine.

And suddenly tears were cascading down her face. It was as though whatever devil had seized hold of her had fled. Her eyes were glimmering an oceanic blue, sparking with an inner turmoil too vast to verbalize as she realized what she had done. 

“Bucky,” his name was ripped from her lips like the apology she was too overcome to utter. Though she didn't have to, the expression in her eyes told him all. 

She attempted to climb to her feet but could only bring herself to rise to her knees. She crawled to his side in repentant deference, reaching out to clutch at his arms as though her touch would erase the energy she'd just released against him. “I'm sorry!” She choked the words out anyway, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” 

“It's alright, Bells,” he wheezed, pulling himself up and taking her into his arms, drawing her against him and rocking her back and forth slowly. Horrified tremors were running through her body as she pressed herself against him, as though the physical contact would express the emotions conquering her mind. Bucky took her chin with his metal hand and raised it, forcing her to face him. Her eyes were brilliant, their color intensified by the red from the tears trekking their way down her cheeks and the blood trickling down the side of her head towards the growing bruises, a few loose strands of hair were floating around her cheeks, glinting golden brown against her marred countenance. She looked like an angel who’d escaped a prison sentence in Hades only because she was no angel, but a merciless war goddess.

“I'm sor-”

He kissed her. 

She froze under the touch of his lips at first, taken by surprise with fiery hot guilt still coursing through her. It was gentle and understanding at first, the lightest of affectionate touches, then hungry and passionate as it became an outlet for the raging rapids of emotions that were thundering through their tortured and twisted minds. Then his arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her as close as possible to him, and her hands were in his hair, pulling it in a convulsion of passion. 

And then they broke apart, gasping for breath while simultaneously giggling like two fellow conspirators against an ignorant world. Their foreheads touching, broad smiles on their faces as they alternating dipping in for quick kisses then ducking out to laugh about it. Both were covered in blood and bruises, yet these physical afflictions against each other seemed insignificant compared to the mental triumph they’d achieved together; they had been mindless soldiers who had suffered in the battlefields of hell and returned as invincible war gods because they had learned they no longer fought for others but for themselves.

They struggled to their feet while still attempting to cling to the other as tightly as possible. She ended up wrapping her legs around his body and clutching his neck, he grasped her thighs to support her, while trailing kisses along her neck, her jaw, her cheeks, as though the contact with her skin was more important than the oxygen he needed to breathe. 

They somehow teetered back to her bedroom down the hall, driven only by their submission to physical passion. When her back hit the closed door, the doorknob clicked and the door swung open from the sheer energy pulsing through the pair. They collapsed down to the bed like a deadweight, conscious of nothing but the other. 


	74. December 24, 2015

“Bucky — wake up!” Her voice was like a merry bell pealing through the crisp Winter air, signaling the arrival of the Savior somewhere in a lonely stable. He flicked his eyes open to find an angel in his arms gazing up at him with shimmering blue orbs that were as joyous as her voice. She might have looked like an angel but they both knew she was much more. The blood still covering both of them was testament to that.

“What?” He murmured, smiling down at her; they were tangled together under the soft covers of her bed in a graceful sprawl of limbs, his right arm was wrapped around her waist, her head in the crook of his arm, she was lightly tracing the scars where his metal arm came to meet his flesh with her fingers, her skin feeling soft and cool to the sensitive area. 

“Do you remember what I said earlier?” She asked, her hand pausing over his scars, resting calmly on his chest. He moved his metal arm up to take her hand in his and squeeze it fondly.

“That it would have been easy to kill me?” He laughed softly, their entire fight seemed humorous now. 

“No,” she scowled up at him, making him snicker; he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers for a swift, teasing moment. 

“Then what?”

“That I was fucking starving.”

“I remember you saying that now.”

“Well then guess what.”

“What?”

“I am now so indescribably famished I don't even have the words to-” he cut her off with another kiss, which seemed to irritate her at first, before her resolve crumbled under his touch and it was a long while before either had the breath to speak again.

“Really though,” Bellona giggled once they broke off the kiss, “let's get food.”

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes upward to gaze at the ceiling of the dark room, smirking a bit as his grip contracted, preventing a squirming Bellona from leaving his arms. “You know it's seven at night, right?” 

“What's that got to do with the fact that my stomach has literally shrunk from lack of food-”

“Nothing,” he looked back down at her and grinned mischievously.

“Can I get up?”

“I don't know, can you?”

“Well I actually can't seeing as it  _ is  _ physically impossible — Bucky! I'm  _ hungry….” _

“Fine,” he relented and unleashed his grip on her, allowing her to roll over and hop out of the bed. While she landed silently on the plush carpet floor, at the same time there was a loud, deafening crack followed by a crashing noise that caused both of them to flinch suddenly. The wooden headboard of the bed, splintered and shattered, had gone creaking down to the floor after Bellona. 

There was silence as the two stared at the fractured wood for a long moment, before they met each other’s eyes and burst into uncontrollable roars of laughter that left Bellona leaning weakly against the side of the bed and Bucky clutching his ribs with his metal arm. When they finally recovered from their hysterics, Bellona pulled herself to her feet and snatched up Bucky’s shirt that had somehow ended up several feet away from the bed, pulling it on victoriously.

“Are you limping?” Bucky’s voice was arrogantly triumphant as he watched her head towards the doors leading out into the hallway.

“Shut up,” she snorted, tugging open the heavy door before turning back to shoot him a taunting grin that sent shivers down his spine. Then she slipped out of the door of the room; he heard her humming to herself as she moved down the hallway and determined that the normal pattern of her walk was definitely altered.

Bucky Barnes descended into the kitchen of the darkened Drager home a few minutes later to find Bellona muttering snarky insults and swears under her breath about how there was  _ literally  _ no food in the house, and definitely not enough to feed two serum-enhanced super-soldiers who could, combined, consume over 10,000 calories in a day.

“I wanna order pizza,” Bellona informed him before he had even entered the kitchen, having sensed his presence immediately. His shirt was hugely baggy on her, and she kept having to roll the sleeves up to have any use of her hands. Bucky strolled into the room in only sweatpants and socks, his hands in his pockets and his hair still ruffled, a few strands falling across his eyes, giving him a scruffy but frisky look.

“Wouldn't it be a little strange if a house that's allegedly been empty for years suddenly orders half a dozen pizzas on Christmas Eve night?”

“That's why we’re not going to order them to here,” her grin was strategic as she whipped out her razor thin, untraceable phone and hopped onto the island bar in the middle of the room. Bucky came to stand before her, his hands reaching up to silently redo her braids which had become dangerously loose. In the middle of ordering the pizza to be delivered to the house next door, she slapped his hands away as he went to reach for the braid containing the electrical storm, shooting him a look that screamed the question: did he want to get electrocuted? 

He decided he didn’t favor the idea and settled on tracing the developing bruises that patterned her body, until she hung up the phone and set it aside, giving him a dead stare.

“What?” He asked, unnerved by the expression in her eyes.

“I just remembered there's a dead body in the dining room.” 

His hand dropped to his side as he watched her closely. “We should, um… do something about that.” 

“Yeah,” Bellona murmured, hopping down from the counter and slowly walking towards the door to the dining room as though in a trance. 

“Bells,” Bucky stopped her, his metal hand snatching up hers. “I can deal with it. You don't have to.”

“No,” Bellona sighed, a grim smile on her lips. “I'll deal with it.” She didn't object however, to his retaining a grip on her hand as they cautiously entered the dining room.

The smell hit them immediately. The corpse, having been dead for over a day now, had begun to rapidly decompose right there on the floor where the housekeeper had fallen.

“Ugh,” Bellona gagged at the smell, clapping her free hand over her mouth before dropping it because she knew she'd need it. “What should I do — burn it or ice it?”

“Can you burn it without damaging anything else?” Bucky suggested, though he knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Bellona responded, “yeah I'll try that. I'll have to be careful though, so don't distract me….”

“Wouldn't want to ruin the floor,” Bucky said jokingly, pleased Bellona was so relaxed with the entire situation. Then again, death was nothing new to either of them.

“Mom would have killed me if I did that,” she said quietly, a strange look overcoming her; Bucky glanced down at her, intrigued by what she had just uttered but not wanting to interrogate her. Bellona evidently was not going to explain her comment, as she gave a slight shake of her head before moving slightly closer to the corpse, tightening her hand in Bucky’s all the while. 

She held her free hand out over the corpse, fingers splayed, before snapping her fingers, summoning a tiny ball of flames that wreathed her knuckles like a crown of blazing laurels. Bucky watched silently as she ushered the flames downwards until they impacted the chest of the body directly over the sternum, and the flames seemed to melt into the asphyxiated body. There were no external signs of the fire consuming the insides of the corpse other than Bellona’s outstretched hand and the occasional dance her fingers would make every so often. It wasn't long before the fire appeared and ate through the external parts of the corpse, turning skin and clothes and white hair to ashes. 

She snapped her fingers once the dead housekeeper was no more than dust and the fire vanished immediately, leaving a small pile of gray ash on the wood floor. Without saying a word, Bellona made a flourishing gesture and every speck of dust that had settled on the floor rose into the air, forming a tight little black cloud before her, she ushered it through the air, her footsteps silent as she guided it through the room, down the hall, and into the large living room, where she let it drop into the fireplace decisively. Understanding her actions, Bucky picked up a single log from the small pile on the side and dropped it over the ashes. Another snap of her fingers and there was a large fire blazing away in the fireplace that hadn't been used for over two decades.

They stood in silence, watching the fire consume the log with a fiery passion before Bucky squeezed her hand in his and gently led her out of the room, down the hall, and back into the kitchen, where he picked her up and placed her on the counter, keeping one hand on her waist to steady her, he lifted her chin with his right hand and forced her to meet his eyes. 

“Don't blame yourself, Bells,” he murmured, “she brought her own fate upon herself. You heard what she said, you know what she did.”

Bellona shivered at his words, but was unable to tear her eyes away from his. “Some shit about evil not going unpunished,” she recalled the words of the deceased housekeeper; they still haunted her, even beyond the veil of death. 

Something flashed in Bucky’s clear blue eyes before conviction hardened them. He dropped his hand from her chin and picked up both her limp hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly. He opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by the sudden screeching of tires coming to a stop on the icy street outfront. 


	75. December 24, 2015

“I can’t believe you scared the shit out of me because the pizza guy pulled up to the house next door — where I fucking ordered it to.”

“How was I supposed to know it was the pizza guy?”

“You weren’t but you didn’t have to force me to hide in the basement while you made sure it wasn’t HYDRA pulling up out front.”

“You didn’t have to order pizza.”

“I was fucking hungry!”

“I don’t even understand how you paid for it.”

“I gave them a credit card number over the phone.”

“Can they trace that?”

“No it’s untraceable….”

“Can Stark-”

“Stark’s irrelevant now. I wanna do this now.”

“Why?”

“We gotta.”

“Not necessarily.”

“It's almost midnight.”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why'd you say it?”

“I dunno. But I wanna do it. I won't have a panic attack, I promise.”

“Promise in Russian.”

“Why?”

“Do it.”

“Fine.  _ обещаю _ _. _ ”

“Let's go then.”

Bellona Drager pushed open the door to her parents former shared office, stepped inside, and flicked the light on. It died immediately. She found Bucky’s hand on her wrist and she looked up at him questioningly.

“No panic attacks?” He murmured and she nodded reassuringly. He slipped her bracelet off and she snapped her fingers to summon a glowing ball of light that lit the room with more intensity than the prior bulb.

“Make sure the light can’t be seen from the street,” Bucky reminded her and she dismissed his worries with a wave of her hand, having already taken care of this fact. She was more interested in the file cabinets that lined the wall in the space between the two sides of the office.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Bucky asked after a few moments of her hurriedly digging through the files. 

“I don’t think so….” she muttered in a tone that was responding more to herself than to him. “Are you gonna help or are you gonna just breathe down my neck the whole time?”

“Aggressive,” Bucky laughed, flicked one of her braids with his silver hand and then turned to attack another drawer.

It had been twenty minutes of them rifling through folders, documents, and reports, most of them James Drager’s legal cases, others were reports on Maria Drager’s archaeological digs. The whole time Bucky was reading names, places, and dates off to her, anything he thought might stir something in her memory. She would either frown or nod intently in response. He was getting more frowns than nods however.

“China 1971, Microraptors, Isaac Tamara Foundation, Baia… this isn’t in alphabetical order….”

“Pull them out.”

“Which ones?”

“All those you just said.”

Bucky grabbed the labeled files and tossed them onto the carpeted floor between them. Bellona added several more from the drawers she was searching through after a few moments.  

“I just feel like I should… know what went on, what happened…. Like what did my parents do before I was born? I don't know.”

“What does China in 1971 have to do with that?”

“I don't know, I'm not going by what my head thinks makes sense I’m going by my gut.” 

The small pile of files, manila folders, and legal documents grew slowly on the floor between the pair until Bellona called a halt to their investigations. She then turned her attention to this collection, settling on the floor cross-legged next to it. Bucky, meanwhile, took the liberty of claiming one of the swivel chairs from behind a desk and dragged it over to sit behind her, one hand playing with one of her braids, the other accepting any documents she discarded upon reading them through. 

“My mother discovered Microraptors in China in 1971,” Bellona announced, shuffling through the files, handing both over to Bucky, who skimmed them briefly. “That’s why they were next to each other.”

“What the hell is a Microraptor?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. A mini-raptor. They’re cute.”

“Like the dinosaur?”

“No, like the chicken.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me.”

“Shut up, Barnes, I’m trying to be professional and do research.”

“Nothing about this,” he gestured to her sitting at his feet in her child-like cross-legged position on the floor, the heap of paperwork scattered before her, and his pile of documents she had finished and tossed to the side, “is professional.”

“Trying to do research then,” she grumbled good-naturedly, picking up the next file labeled “Isaac Tamara Foundation” and flipping it open. “Wait….”

“What?” Bucky asked, his interest piquing with the spike of hers. He leaned forward in his chair to read the documents over her shoulder.

“I remember going to some type of stuffy formal function related to this…” she muttered, turning back to look at him with intrigued eyes. “Tony was there too.”

“Who’s Isaac Tamara?” He asked, reaching down to take the file from her.

She playfully held it out of his reach. “I’m not done looking at it yet.” She laughed at his mischievous sounds of annoyance as she flicked through the file, scouring the documents for anything interesting. “The Isaac Tamara Foundation is, or was, a non profit foundation founded by Maria Drager to provide financial support for upcoming graduate students interested in the fields of archaeology and paleontology, in memory of Isaac Tamara, a young research assistant who died during the excavation of an ancient Roman city…” she read the facts off to Bucky, who had quickly grown bored and decided to entertain himself by tugging on her braids.

“I didn’t really care who he actually was but if he’s relevant then I do,” Bucky informed her with a slight grin while she glared at him. “How do you die on an archaeological site?”

“You don’t have to shoot someone to kill them, idiot,” she snorted, rolling her eyes at his antics. He was so obviously bored with their task he was willing to say anything to get her to stop. She deliberately turned back to the file in her hands just to irritate him. “And it doesn’t say exactly how he died, though I’m sure I could find out if you were really desperate to know.’

“I’m not.”

“There’s no real description of how he died…” she continued babbling about the topic just because it was annoying him. “Maybe you killed him…. Oh, wait, did you see anything that had the numbers ‘one-zero-three-one-seven-four’ written on it? There’s a note here on the back.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky replied, his hand dropping her braid to slip down to massage her shoulders. “Sounds like a file number or something.”

“Well find it then,” she scooted away from him, dodging his arms and sitting several feet away from him. He pouted like a dog denied a treat and gave her a fabricated look of immense injury.

“I don’t remember seeing any files with those numbers.”

“And I don’t remember my parents.”

“Okay… wow, just... okay….”

“Okay, that one was ill-timed,” she winced slightly at her prior statement and hopped to her feet. Bucky copied her motions fluidly, looking at her with a blank face.

“I’ll find that stupid file if it’s what you want,” he muttered, turning away from her and heading back over to the filing cabinets. She stared after him, regretting letting her tongue get the better of her. After a moment, she shrugged slightly and turned away, picking another filing cabinet to search through.

“It’s not here,” Bucky said in a gruff voice after ten minutes or so of the pair pawing through every cabinet in the room. “It probably doesn’t exist.”

“Doesn’t explain why those numbers were written here,” Bellona held up the Isaac Tamara file and shifted the documents inside so he could view the six numbers handwritten in blue ink onto the file folder itself.

“Is it even important?” He demanded, crossing his arms and staring her down.

“I don’t know. Initially I just wanted to find it because you were bored and me being interested in something other than you was pissing you off.”

“So you’re being petty,” he said rather chillingly. 

She narrowed her eyes distastefully in his direction. “Was. I was being petty. But now I wanna know what the numbers mean.”

“It could mean nothing. We’ve searched the entire room.”

“No,” she said, her tone lowering as she curiously paced across the room to what she assumed had been her father’s desk. It was bare, save for a small pile of law books on one corner, that looked as though they’d been placed there just for show. “We just searched all the filing cabinets.”

“Maybe because that’s where you keep files,” she looked up at the sarcasm floating through his voice, her hand resting on the handle of one of the desk drawers. Looking him directly in the eye, she forcefully tugged a bracelet off her wrist, sending it rolling away on the desk. Bucky tensed immediately at this action, taking a few precautionary strides forward before he heard the lock click on the drawer and it popped open under her hand.

“Just legal documents,” she murmured in disappointment after pulling out the stack of paperwork in the drawer. Highly sensitive legal documents at that, she paused whenever she saw the name Stark, and even spotted “S.H.I.E.L.D.” a few times. None of it was very pertinent to her interest at the moment, however, she carefully placed some aside to peruse later.

Bucky, who had come to stand on the opposite side of the desk, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “waste of time”. Bellona shot a glare up at him and continued opening the two other drawers in the desk, each producing the same result.

“Next desk,” she announced, slamming the last drawer shut and marching across the office towards the desk she assumed was her mother’s. Bucky trailed after her, his face a mask, though the tension in the office had grown so thick between them, both were hyper-aware of the other’s every twitch, every blink, and every breath.

“You don’t have to be so uptight you know,” she finally said to him after breaking into the first drawer and finding it full of plaster casts of bones. She had closed it disinterestedly and glanced up at Bucky. “About the whole murdering my parents thing.”

He stared at her with swirling blue eyes. “You don’t have to act like your parents’ death means nothing to you.”

She sighed wearily and her hand halted on the next drawer handle. “Why do you have to fight everything I say?”

“Does it?”

“What?”

“Does their death mean nothing to you?”

“It means everything to me; it changed my entire life. But what can I possibly do about it?”

“Well you seemed pretty intent on killing me earlier.”

“I… it wasn’t you…. I was — mad, I suppose — because look where I am, and I barely remember it, but not at you. I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at HYDRA… because look at what they did…. Twenty four years ago we were murdering people in Moscow on Christmas, now we’re standing in my dead parents’ office in Boston, searching for a file that is probably entirely insignificant and means absolutely fucking nothing. And it’s twenty minutes until midnight on Christmas Eve…. I know, I know HYDRA sent  _ you _ to kill my parents, but… you can’t blame a gun for shooting itself, or a nuclear warhead for launching on its own…. There’s gotta be an upper-level decision…. That’s who I was pissed at, that’s who I wanted to kill earlier. You just….”

“Happened to be there.”

She glanced up at him, solemnity twisting her lips into a somber smile. “Yeah….”

They stared at each other for a long moment, nothing but silence and the glowing rays of the ball of light Bellona had conjured between them. They watched the emotions gallivant through the other’s eyes until Bellona at last tugged open the last drawer and heaved a sigh of disappointment. 

“It’s a safe,” she said slowly, “in a locked drawer. Seems a bit-”

“Much,” Bucky finished for her, then hopped over the desk in one smooth motion. The tension that had flared up between them had subsided, and he gently spun her out of the way so he could lift the safe from the bottom drawer of the desk, now more intrigued than her by the situation at hand.

The safe was made of dark, solid metal, and was about twelve by ten inches. It’s coded combination lock looked sturdy and unrelenting, but Bucky Barnes had no time for such a foolish measure. He cracked the metal lock off with his superior arm, shattering the internal locking mechanisms and then pulling off the entire front.

“I could have done it less messily,” Bellona remarked, though she was practically leaning over his arm in an attempt to view the safe’s contents. Bucky snorted and tugged her back before lifting out, in a very anti-climactic manner, a very much single but very much weighted manila folder.

“I was hoping there would be an explosion,” she joked, reaching to grab the folder from his hand. In mockery of her a few moments ago, however, he held it out of her reach with his right hand, then wrapped his left arm around her, lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder before making his way out of the office.

“Bucky! The file!” She whined, attempting to twist around and snatch it from him while simultaneously releasing his iron grip on her.

“It’s labelled 103174,” he replied calmly, as though he hadn’t just picked her up for apparently no reason. “So what you’ve been looking for, so what we can look through somewhere else. Get the light.”

She grumbled under her breath but stopped struggling and let the glowing ball of light extinguish itself. The room was plunged into darkness other than the coils of electric light from the streetlights that crept through the blinds, glinting off Bucky’s metal arm that was wrapped around Bellona. The door swung shut behind them with an air of finality as Bucky turned left and loped down the stairs into the dark, silent house. 

Not lacking grace, Bucky dropped Bellona onto the loveseat in front of the fireplace in the living room, which crackled into life upon her sighting it. He hopped over the back of the loveseat and landed next to her; the file in one hand, he pulled her into his lap with his other. Then he held the file out in front of her nose. 

“I hope it's interesting,” he said as she snatched it up eagerly. 

“Me too,” she replied, resting her head against his metal shoulder and stretching her feet out across the couch. 

Then Bellona flicked the file open and as her eyes landed upon its contents, she felt her muscles lock and her breath catch from utter astonishment just as the grandfather clock somewhere in the dark, lonely house chimed midnight. 


	76. December 25, 2015

“Bells?” Bucky murmured softly in her ear, reaching a hand out to take the pile of paperwork that had startled her so. She had begun trembling uncontrollably so he wrapped his metal arm tighter around her and whispered quietly in Russian for a bit until she calmed down. Then he turned his attention to the documents. His eyes widened upon spotting what Bellona snatched up immediately. On the very top of the stack of documents and photos was a polaroid picture of an infant, only a few months old, gazing up into the camera with forest green eyes and a ghost of a smile.

He turned the picture over and read what was scrawled on the back.

_ Bellona Drager.  _

_ Born November 23, 1973.  _

_ 6.6 ounces. _

Bucky then silently picked up the other photograph directly underneath the first and held it so he could compare it with the first. The second showed the same child, a few months older, looking up at the camera with a few key differences; glacial blue eyes, a pale scar in the hollow of the neck, and an amused expression.

“How?” Bellona choked out the word, staring between the pictures, entirely spellbound. Bucky merely shrugged slightly, because he had no idea either. “How is that… possible?”

She looked up into Bucky’s eyes, who was staring down at her with equal mystification. Both watched as the other’s bewilderment morphed into driven determination, and the next thing they knew, the pictures had been tossed to the side and they were on the floor before the fireplace, ripping apart the pile of documents. Scouring every scrap of paper it contained, reading aloud every written word, swapping every photograph, analyzing every unit of data recorded.

“The only people who knew about this file were James and Maria Drager, Howard and Maria Stark, and Margaret Carter,” Bellona said decisively as she tossed aside a sheet of observation notes signed by all those whom she just mentioned and picked up another photograph of the scar on her throat taken when she was five years old. “Hell, my parents didn’t even tell me they were carrying out some covert experiment on me.”

“Probably trying to figure out how the hell you didn’t die,” Bucky announced, tossing the file labelled “Isaac Tamara Foundation” towards her. She caught it with ease and gave him a muddled look, not even having been aware he had brought it down with them.

“What do you mean…?”

“Look,” in a whirlwind of dark hair, cerulean eyes, and glinting metal, Bucky collected multiple pictures and documents and spread them out before her on the faded Oriental carpet. “The pictures of this white stone are in the 103174 file, as are all the pictures that focus on your scar. There’s also this,” he tapped a silver finger on a grainy photograph that revealed a heavy rock-hewn box-like object resting on the floor of a crumbling Roman temple. “Do you recognize the columns?” He then opened the Tamara Foundation file, pulled out another photograph, and laid it next to the other. This one showed what was unmistakably the same ancient city, but from an aerial perspective.

“Doric columns,” was all she mumbled, her eyes wide as she stared down at the photographs.

“What?” Bucky asked, momentarily thrown off his point.

“They’re… the oldest type of columns built in the ancient world,” Bellona muttered, tinting slightly red as though confused and embarrassed that she thought to bring up this fact at this exact moment. “Same type of columns used to build the Parthenon. But it’s irrelevant….”

Bucky stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head and continuing. “Anyway, look at this picture,” and he snatched another photo up and dropped it beside the other two. “It’s from the Tamara file. That must be Isaac Tamara.” The faded photo showed a jubilant young man clutching a large backpack bursting with archaeological tools; he was grinning in pure excitement on the deteriorating stone steps of the temple. Bellona’s eyes swerved from this photo to the other, from the 103174 file. 

“It’s the same temple….”

“Which is where this was,” Bucky pointed at the photo of the stone box. “Which must be where  _ this _ came from.” And he landed two silver fingers on two separate photographs with a swift air of triumph.

Bellona stared between the two for a long, silent moment. Then she glanced back up at Bucky, who was gazing intently at her, his face an unreadable mask.

“You think… you think….”

“Yes.”


	77. October 31, 1974

Maria Drager sat at her desk in the large office she shared with her husband James, who was currently flying across the country for a meeting with a top executive who had requested his services to untangle a legal mix up involving an expired patent. His side of the room was quiet, papers and books scattered about his desk, conforming to a filing system only he knew. His assortment of degrees from Harvard hung silently on the wall above the bookshelves chock full of books concerning the lawyer’s favorite legal cases. Her side in comparison was clean, organized, and precise, replicas of her famous finds decorated the walls and shelves, her bookshelf stocked with the latest book she had written and published during her pregnancy. People often asked how James Drager and Maria Carter had met when the fields they had dedicated themselves in proved to be so drastically different, until they were told the humorous tale that Maria had once needed legal clearance to undertake an excavation on a government-owned site and had gone through so many different lawyers that when James Drager was able to wheedle his way through laws to grant her permission to the site, she was so grateful she married him.

Maria was staring down at a thick, roughly-hewn stone box on her desk. It wasn't the box that troubled her, but what was inside. She had only caught a brief glance of it, but the image was burned into her mind. Underneath the shattered lid was a stone, though it looked more like a precious gem. It was a pure snow white color and had seemed to pulse with its own rhythm, as though it were drawing energy from the air around it and amplifying it, sending waves of pure, dynamic power out of it. 

She had no idea what it was, only that it was likely to be the greatest archaeological find of the century — if she knew where it had come from, who had made it, what it's purpose was, and what the hell it was doing in an Ancient Roman city that had been buried by sea and sediment for centuries. 

She and her handpicked team of archaeologists, paleontologists, and excavators had discovered the white stone after an earthquake in the Mediterranean had thrown up the ruins of the ancient Roman city that had sunk under the waves generations ago. The site had been a goldmine of artifacts, until one of her college interns had stumbled upon a curious box carved from an odd type of rock no one had been able to identify yet. He had made the understandable mistake of cracking it open with a pick-ax, reached inside for the white gem, and shouted the discovery to those around him, including herself. She had turned to watch him be disintegrated with a supersonic boom, becoming a pile of dust before two dozen pairs of eyes. She had been stunned beyond belief, beyond understanding, when she had spotted the innocent looking white stone in the ashes that had been one of her most promising interns. It hadn’t just been any stone, however. It has pulsed and  _ moved _ with a vibrant energy that seemed powerful enough to alter its actual shape; it appeared solid but had twisted like a liquid and coiled about like a gas.

They had kept quiet about it; the media would have had a field day over the incident, interrogating the renowned Maria Drager and her team, demanding answers they didn’t have. So she and her team had closed the site down, marking it off as being too hazardous to excavate, despite the wealth of well-preserved artifacts it possessed. She had no idea what the culpable object was, so she had, without touching it, without even looking at it, shifted it back inside its stone box with a now chipped and fractured lid and confiscated it, ordering her team not to speak of it and keeping it in her personal possession until more could be learned about it.

“Peggy?” She had decided to phone her cousin, “it's Maria… you know that dig we were all excited about a few days ago?”

“-yeah I know it was surprising we cancelled it, but the site was too dangerous to continue excavating.”

“-no, I've got something else here that I think you and the others at S.H.I.E.L.D. might be interested in….”

As she spoke she kept her eyes on her 11 month old daughter; Bellona was on the floor to the left of her mother’s desk, happily occupied by playing with the recreated casts of a tiny dinosaur skeleton that Maria had unearthed in China three years ago. The toddler was in her teething phase, testing out her new incisors by biting anything she could get her hands on, and Maria and James had taken great pains to make sure anything she touched was non-lethal. The forelimb of the Microraptor Bellona was excitedly chomping down on was made of a non-toxic plastic that Howard Stark had designed when his goddaughter had almost swallowed a new type of battery he had been working on after four-year old Tony Stark had broken into his father’s lab, grabbed anything interesting he could get his hands on, and gave it all to the the nine-month old infant he was convinced was his sister to play with. 

“-it concerns why we shut down the dig site,” Maria said, meeting her daughter’s eyes and smiling. She'd always been glad that Bellona had inherited her own forest green eyes and delighted in teasing James about it. 

“-I don't know, we should probably see if Howard might know anything….”

“-well it's hard to explain, but it reminds me of-”

“Mrs. Drager, you have a visitor requesting your presence downstairs.” An Italian-accented voice buzzed on the intercom on Maria’s desk, distracting her from her phone call. 

“-hold on, Peggy — Sofia, who is it?”

“A Mrs. Tamara-”

“I'll be right down.” Isaac Tamara was her bright young intern who had just perished because of the object hidden in the box before her. “-Peggy I've got to go, we’ll discuss this further. I’ll call you soon.” She hung up the phone, shot a glance at her distracted daughter, who was busy trying to fit the skull of the Microraptor in her mouth — an impossible task — decided Bellona wouldn't be able to do anything dangerous in the office, as it had been baby-proofed before her birth, and hurried out to meet the mother of her dead intern.

Maria Drager returned just fifteen minutes later, having spent the time consoling Isaac Tamara’s mother, who demanded a more thorough explanation as to why her son’s body could not be recovered. “An excavation accident” would not do for the grieving mother, and Maria did not want to fabricate a horrific lie to properly explain why there was no corpse to bury. “He touched this weird stone” wasn't going to cut it either. Fortunately for the expert archaeologist, Mrs. Tamara had been so exceptionally overcome with emotion that she accepted the placating, vague statements Maria had been forced to soothe her with, and finally left after Maria promised to meet with the family officially to discuss Isaac’s life and legacy. 

“Bella?” Maria called, frowning in worry upon stepping into the office because her daughter’s happy gurgles and giggles has ceased. 

She first spotted the toy dinosaur bones on the floor: abandoned. 

Then she realized what was missing from her desk. 

The small stone box containing the pure white object that possessed the power to disintegrate a man on contact. 

“Bellona!” Maria screamed, hurtling across the room in a few quick bounds, she plunged to a halt just beside her desk and gaped down at the scene before her. 

There, on her desk chair, the swivel one that her daughter liked to sit in and clap with delight when someone spun it, lay her eleven-month-old child, slumped back against the chair as though she had merely fallen asleep. 

But the box that contained the white essence was on the floor, its already broken stone cover shattered further by an infant’s inexorable curiosity. 

“No!” Maria moaned in horror, falling to her knees before the chair and reaching out towards her daughter’s limp body. 

The instant her hands touched the child’s skin, a tremor ran through her tiny body, a leg kicked with an involuntary movement and Bellona Drager blinked her eyes open. 

Maria Drager felt like she’d been punched in the gut, because it was not her own olive green eyes she found herself looking into. 

Her daughter was staring at her with brilliant bright blue eyes. Eyes that flattered the ocean and put the sky to shame. Eyes that singers cried about, jesters rhymed about, poets dreamed about. Eyes that Shakespeare would write sonnets to and Homer odes to. Eyes that would have been worshipped had Bellona been born during the time her namesake had received blood sacrifices and answered soldiers’ prayers. 

Then she noticed the outline on the toddler’s neck, an almost perfect chalky white oval. And she knew immediately. 

She didn't know how long she spent, kneeling before the chair her daughter was on, simply staring at her. 

When Maria Drager finally had the ability to stand, she leaned on her desk, pulled herself to her feet, and snatched up the phone. 

“Peggy,” she said breathlessly into the receiver after quickly dialing her cousin again, “about that issue I was talking about… well, there's been a change in developments…. Let's keep this solely between you, me, and Howard….”

Behind the archaeologist, still sitting on the chair and amused by her mother’s reactions, Bellona Drager giggled. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that Maria Drager found naming her daughter after a goddess somehow disturbingly fitting. 


	78. December 25, 2015

“Super-soldiers can’t get drunk….” 

“Not on regular alcohol we can’t.”

“And this is….”

“Not regular alcohol. Tony made it for me.”

“Stark made you super-soldier alcohol?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you think that some random stone that killed Isaac Tamara, who was allegedly one of my mother’s research students, and was found in a Roman temple is now lodged in my throat and is why I can manipulate the elements. Oh, and it’s also why my eyes are really blue.” Bellona Drager paused to catch to her breath as she spouted this information out at him. Then she shook her head and pushed one of the four bottles of modified alcohol she had discovered in the basement; left there by Tony Stark a year ago, in some vague hope she would come for them, into Bucky Barnes’ bionic hand. The other two bottles she let drop to the Oriental carpet of the living room with a hollow thunk before she turned to the one remaining in her hand. She pulled the cork and raised the full bottle to her lips.

“Holy…  _ shit _ ….” She blurted once she’d chugged a quarter of the bottle in one go. “ _ Holy shit….” _ Bellona erupted into hysterical giggles suddenly, swaying on the spot but retaining a tight grip on the bottle nonetheless. 

“Bells…” Bucky stepped towards her in worry, the bottle in his silver hand unopened. His eyes were wide as he studied the effect the alcohol was having on her; he wasn’t sure he liked it, particularly with what they had just discovered concerning her past.

“Bucky, oh my God… drink it… Tony made it so good,” she paused her laughter to raise the bottle to her lips again, and when she dropped it, she was strangely focused. “Okay so you think that this white stone thing… was in the temple in the Roman city that my mom, whom you killed, was excavating because she was like this really cool archaeologist….” she stopped and upended the bottle again. It was now near empty; she struggled to stand as its effect rolled over her. Seeing this, Bucky lunged forward and helped her down to the floor; the loveseat behind her, the documents and photos spread out before her. 

“And anyways…” Bellona slurred, finishing off the bottle and reaching for the one she hadn’t passed to Bucky. “You really gotta try this shit I feel like… all warm and fuzzy inside but like I could run a marathon right now…. Probably take over the world without even trying oh my God… try it!”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Bucky laughed, batting her hand away from where she’d reached out to grab the bottle he’d placed beside him on the floor. He flicked the cork off his bottle and raised it to his lips, Bellona watching him eagerly. 

“Shit…” he breathed after taking a swallow. It tasted like a fiery malt that unravelled itself around his tastebuds until his brain cells became bouncy but simultaneously magnified into focus.  “You’re right….”

“I told you!” She burst into a solid minute of uncontrollable laughter while Bucky proceeded to go through as much of his bottle as possible. “Now back to what I was talking about! Your theory of why I’m fucked up! That stone was found, and Tamara was there, somehow, and like came into contact with it or something? And then he tragically died — still holding onto my theory that you killed him — so then there’s the Fund for him. And you think that I like, what,  _ swallowed, _ the stone and it changed my eye color — because that makes  _ so  _ much sense! And also gave me the ability to do this!” She flung out a hand and a roaring bundle of flames erupted in her palm. 

“That,” Bucky cracked open his second bottle; Bellona had already begun hers. “Is  _ definitely _ what happened. 

“How do you know? What, did you interrogate my parents before you killed them?”

“No, definitely didn’t do that,” Bucky laughed throatily, the alcohol loosening both tongue and mind. “Didn’t have time for it.”

“There’s never time to talk to the victims before you take them out,” Bellona added as if they were having a deep philosophical conversation. “Makes it way easier.”

“It’s even easier, when, you know, you’re like a hundred yards away from the target-”

“-and you can hit them with one shot because you’re a psycho assassin-”

“-with another psycho assassin as an accomplice who can manipulate air currents from said hundred yards away-”

“-allegedly because said psycho assassin accomplice swallowed some sort of energy stone thingy even though prior mentioned psycho assassin murdered said psycho assassin accomplice’s parents, but you know what who cares? Literally who gives a shit? How many people have you murdered? How many people have I murdered? Does it keep me up at night? You would know. But what am I supposed to do about it? What are we supposed to do about it? Hell, I spend a decade killing people, spend another in cryofreeze, come out and find that my best friend is in a gang of superheroes, the world’s been invaded by aliens more than once, and realize that I’m in love with the man who killed my parents….”


	79. June 24, 2016

“He’s staring.”

“Where?”

“Vendor across the street. In the little hut that sells cigarettes and newspapers. Looked down at his newspaper, looked up at us. Shit….”

“What?”

“I made eye contact.”

“Dammit, Buck, don’t you know better than that?”

“Shut up,” Bucky Barnes growled as sirens wailed their way down the street, causing both former HYDRA assassins to drop into tensed silence as they watched the cars pass.

“He’s running,” Bellona Drager hissed as Bucky scooped her hand up and led her across the street to where the man in the kiosk had spotted them. He was quick to snatch up the newspaper the man had dropped and scan the headlines.

“What the hell?” Bellona breathed as she read the front page that claimed the Winter Soldier was responsible for bombing a United Nations assembly in Vienna. “We weren’t in Vienna.”

“I know that,” Bucky’s jaw had clenched nervously as he quickly surveyed their surroundings. “We have to go.”

A block away from the building, Bucky leaned down to whisper in Bellona’s ear while continuing to walk at a casual pace. “Air ward, now.”

Her bracelets safely in his jacket pocket, as they had been since their return to Romania, she swiftly nodded before allowing her index finger and thumb to brush together lightly. The two vanished into thin air, hidden by the altered vibrations of air molecules around them.

“Do you think we’re being followed anyway?” Bellona asked nervously as they approached the building.

“Not yet,” Bucky’s voice was oddly calm for having just found out he was guilty of bombing a United Nations assembly.

“Bucky,” Bellona whispered once they stood outside the door to the apartment they’d inhabited for so long. “Someone’s here.”

“How many?” He muttered in the low tone only she could hear.

Bellona was silent for such a length of time Bucky began to grow unsettled. Tightening his grip on her hand he spun her so that she was facing him, forcing her to look him in the eye. 

“Just one,” she finally murmured, staring at him with a look in her blue eyes that caused the bottom of his stomach to drop clean out; she knew exactly who was in the apartment but by no means would she willingly share that information with him.

“Drop the air ward, around me only,” he commanded, releasing his iron grip on her hand.

“What-”

“Just do it, Bells.”

“Okay,” she sighed and allowed him to slip out of the bubble of air that now encompassed only her. Bucky watched her fade from sight before turning and facing the door. Assassin mode on, he silently opened the door and stepped into the apartment, knowing full well Bellona was on his heels.

“Do you know me?” Came the unmistakable voice of Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re Steve,” Bucky was quick to respond, though avoided eye contact with his former best friend at all costs. “I read about you in a museum.”

“They’ve set the perimeter,” Sam Wilson’s voice buzzed through the radio Captain America carried, causing Bellona to freeze up from where she stood, invisible, behind Bucky. She had a feeling whoever “they” were weren’t going to be as friendly as Steve.

“I know you’re nervous,” Cap continued, for the moment ignoring the Falcon’s warning, “and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

Bellona bit her lip, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the wall behind Bucky. Watching the interaction between the two former friends was certainly intriguing, though she wasn’t sure Steve was taking the best approach. Arguably, however, he seemed to be under a severe time constraint.

“I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore,” Bucky was quiet, almost as if he knew full well what was about to happen. 

“They’re entering the building,” came Sam’s voice from the radio and Bellona pushed off from the wall, tensing under the sudden strain in the atmosphere of the room. 

“Well the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart. Good strategy.”

“That means both of you.”

“That’s not good strategy.”

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

Bucky took a few steps to the side, looking somewhat annoyed but more so tired, he shot the invisible Bellona a piercing look which sent her a message she didn’t necessarily like. “It always ends in a fight.”

“You pulled me from the river,” Steve’s voice rose as the pressure mounted, “why?”

Bucky tugged the glove from his metal hand and looked back up at Captain America. “I don’t know,”

“Yes, you do.”

“Breach, breach, breach!”

Chaos erupted.

Bellona didn’t move a muscle until Bucky flung the table across the room to jam the door shut; she leapt aside and muttered a string of curse words under her breath as several grenades went off throughout the room and the peppering of bullets filled her ears.

“Buck, stop! You’re gonna kill someone!” Steve warned through the crescendo of discharged ammunition. 

The former U.S. Army Sergeant had him flattened on the floor in a heartbeat. “I’m not gonna kill anyone.”

Bellona, however, wasn’t so sure about this testament. After knocking two German police out cold, she charged for the door of the apartment; the police whom had infiltrated from the outside had blown several holes in it. Her hand raised, the door blew out before it could be kicked in, knocking away any members of the invading force.

“ _ Escape Plan Delta _ ,” came Bucky’s snarl of Russian, as he had followed her path of destruction into the hallway. “ _ What are you waiting for _ ?”

“I don’t want to leave y-”

“Do it!”

Growling under her breath, she turned away from him to follow his direct orders. The east staircase was swarming with German police forces, which she could have taken out rather easily, but of course, that wasn’t to plan. Ignoring them all, including the outbreak of pandemonium that ensued whenever one of the police force engaged the Winter Soldier, Bellona hopped over the railing of the stairs and handed control over to gravity; if only for a moment. Pausing herself in mid-air upon reaching the designated landing, the door blew out before her and she sprinted down the short hall and over the outside landing, once more manipulating the air to control her descent onto the adjacent rooftop. 

It was, as she knew it was going to be, complete and utter agony waiting on that rooftop for the Winter Soldier to follow her out. When, at last, he did so, she lowered her air ward, tossed his backpack to him, and allowed her tongue no restraints.

“Took you long enough! How many concussions did you belt out? Did you actually not kill anyone or was that line just for dramatic effect?”

“Shut up, stay invisible, and let’s go,” he grunted, her angry scowl of little consequence to him before she vanished once more; just a heartbeat before her scream went unheard by all when a black figure in a cat suit leapt from behind them and pounced on Bucky Barnes.


	80. June 24, 2016

Bellona Drager froze and stared at the scene before her; everything had happened so quickly, she was too used to the quiet life she and Bucky had created while on the run. As she watched the black cat figure attempt to scratch, claw, and beat Bucky Barnes, she knew there could be no more running; the world had changed, dragging them along with it. So, while still maintaining the protective and invisible air ward around her, she reached out a hand to subtly intervene in the fight between the two, which consisted mostly of the cat ferociously charging and clawing at Bucky, who seemed very confused as to what was going on overall, nevertheless this did not hinder his ability to avoid most of the cat’s advances. A shifting of air molecules here, a melting of asphalt there, and the cat found his claws missing his target, or his footing lost, throwing him off balance. But troubles such as these can be so subtle, so unnoticed in the heat of battle, that neither party observed the girl’s influence. 

Bellona cursed loudly when the fight began to transform; Bucky had snatched up his backpack once more and leapt down from the rooftop, followed by the black cat and Steve Rogers. The blue-eyed girl groaned and charged after them, pursuing them down from the rooftop and under the overpass, where the chase morphed into a high-speed pursuit involving multiple vehicles.

She managed to remain on their tail, cussing them all out and complaining the entire time as she watched Bucky dance and spin his way through the tunnel while the Falcon, Captain America, and the black cat chased him with an aggressive vigor. She really needed to find out who the hell this other cat dude was. She let out a scream when she spotted Bucky toss up a sticky bomb and the roof of the tunnel exploded, spewing cannonballs of rubble everywhere. Groaning and still maintaining the protective air shield around her, she managed to pick her way through the debris and dust that was swirling through the air; the tunnel a cacophony of shouting, tires screeching, screaming, horns honking, and cement cracking. 

“Fuck!” Bellona’s shout went unheard by all when she cleared the wreckage and found dozens of police, along with James Rhodey in full War Machine suit, surrounding the group of Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and the man in the cat suit, who had removed his mask to reveal the solemn face and tortured eyes of the former prince, now king of Wakanda. “This is bad… this is very bad.”

 

********

 

“So. . . you like cats?”

“Sam,” Steve Rogers sighed; Sam Wilson’s interjection had nevertheless relieved a bit of the tension in the vehicle which was transporting the Captain, the Falcon, and the Black Panther to Berlin. Unknown to all, there was another occupant who sat in silence, unseen and unheard beside the Falcon.

“What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don’t wanna know more?”

“Your suit,” Steve glanced to T’Challa, “it’s Vibranium?”

“The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle, passed from warrior to warrior. And now, because your friend murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of king. So, I ask you... as both warrior and king... how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?”

Steve Rogers was silent at this not entirely subtle threat. He was, however, ignorant to the fact that rather close to him, Bellona Drager was snickering in dark amusement at the King of Wakanda’s statement, because her trained eyes had already identified several ways in which to incapacitate the warrior King. 

 

 

***************

 

“Shit. Shit. Shit. I have no idea what to do, oh my God everyone looks so legit here, Jesus. . .” Bellona Drager groaned as the van emptied the party of superheroes into the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre in Berlin. She managed to slip out of the van after Sam, still invisible to all because of her maintained air ward. She froze in the middle of the room, staring at the electrified box that Bucky was contained in. She knew she could easily break him out of the box, but getting both him and herself out of the Centre was a different matter altogether. Furthermore, Steve and Sam being present complicated things as well; they seemed to be in pretty deep shit as well, and Bellona didn’t plan on leaving without knowing what the latest trouble the Avengers had found themselves in was. 

She groaned aloud as Sam, Steve, T’Challa, along with Sharon Carter and another man who was introduced as Everett Ross, the Deputy Task Force Commander, began walking away from the box containing Bucky. When heavy metals doors closed around the box, Bellona made her decision, sprinting after Steve and the others.  
“You’ll be provided with an office, instead of a cell. Now do me a favor — stay in it.” The Deputy Task Force Commander was saying as she caught up to the group striding down the hall. She didn’t like where this was going at all.

“For the record, this is what making things worse looks like.” Bellona grinned as she caught sight of Natasha Romanoff  fall in stride besides Steve Rogers, looking none too pleased with him. 

“He’s alive,” came Steve’s confident response.

“He is. What about her?” Natasha demanded immediately.

“Haven’t seen her at all. Don’t think she was with him when we found him.”

“She’s going to turn up eventually now that he’s here. And I doubt it’s going to be a pretty sight when she does.”

Bellona’s snickering at this conversation morphed into a broad grin upon sighting Tony Stark as the group entered a control room with a long table in the middle with multiple screens upon each wall. It was bittersweet to see Tony and the other Avengers again; her family. She had missed them all greatly while being on the run with Bucky, but the circumstances in which they now found themselves in was less than desirable. 

“Consequences? You bet there’ll be consequences. Obviously you can quote me on that because I just said it. Anything else? Thank you, sir.” Tony hung up his cell phone and approached where Steve and Sam were staring at him with apprehension. None of them knew it, but Bellona Drager was there as well, beaming at Tony Stark.

“Secretary Ross wants you both prosecuted. Had to give him something.”

“I’m not getting that shield back, am I?” Steve demanded.

“Technically it’s the government’s property now,” Natasha smiled with taunting saccharine, leading the small group to the glass-enclosed table in the middle of the room. Bellona was silent, standing near the glass wall of the area while she accessed the situation. High emotions were simmering between each member of the Avengers, but the tension that existed between Tony and Steve was at a breaking point. So much so that Sam and Natasha ducked away from the two as soon as they could, opting rather to stand and watch the intel screens around the room, occasionally exchanging a word or two. Intuition informing her that these two had the right idea, she slipped out through the glass doors after them, wandering around the room, taking care to avoid the staff members walking about. She monitored every screen, hoping to spot something that would give her any detail about Bucky’s location at the moment. 

“Cap said you didn’t find Bellona with Barnes?” The blue-eyed girl paused in her surveillance upon hearing the Black Widow mutter this, swivelling around and creeping silently back to where Sam and Natasha were standing.

“Not a trace,” Sam replied quietly. “Got a clue where she could be?”

“Something tells me not far. That’s what concerns me.”

“If you’re concerned —  should we all be?”

“Probably. It’s just a matter of what she’ll do upon arrival.”

“Get Barnes, most likely.”

“He’s currently irretrievable, confined by the top security in the world —”

“Well something tells me that wouldn’t matter to little miss soldier.”

Bellona didn’t miss the grimace upon Natasha’s face at this. “Exactly. This whole situation is already a firestorm for the Accords. If another ex-HYDRA agent breaks into this Centre. . . All it will do is heighten the political and public pressure to have a leash on enhanced individuals.”

“I ain’t ready to kiss my wings good-bye.”

“You may have already done that, Wilson.”

Bellona’s attention was diverted from the pair upon the conversation between the other two Avengers boiling over. Despite the soundproof glass walls, Bellona could hear every word of the heated argument between Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. 

“Protection? Is that how you see this? It’s internment, Tony!”

“She’s not a U.S. citizen and they don’t grant visas to weapons of mass destruction!”

“She’s a kid!”

“Give me a break!”

Seeing as the two had begun yelling at each other, Bellona, still invisible, sprinted to the doors of the room, managing to slip in just as the Captain stormed out, anger emanating off the super-soldier. 

The door closed behind her with a gentle click as she watched Tony sulk in his chair, popping a pair of sunglasses onto his face immediately. She could sense the growing agitation and distress that was broiling beneath his tailored suit. Taking a deep breath, she extended her air ward so it encompassed the entirety of the glass-enclosed area, revealing herself to Tony alone. 

Tony Stark almost fell out of his chair when Bellona Drager simply  _ appeared _ merely a few feet away from him. Her face betraying how nervous she was, she nevertheless closed the space between them in a few short strides just as he leapt up to his feet, and flung her arms around him in a rare display of emotion. He found himself hugging back his seemingly always lost sister with enough fervor to demonstrate that he was finally tired of losing her. 

“When the hell did you get here?” He demanded once he released her from his grip. He kept his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact with him.

“I arrived with Cap, Sam, and Wakanda’s new drama queen,” she explained, struggling to remain calm despite the situation. “I’ve been invisible the whole time. Air ward, remember?”

“Of course,” Tony groaned. “Now I have to make  _ more  _ phone calls, convince Ross you weren’t part of Barnes whole shitshow-”

“Tony,” Bellona stepped out and away from his grip, looking him dead in the eye and waving a hand around the room, as though gesturing to everything that had happened since she had last seen him. “What the  _ hell  _ is going on?”


	81. June 24, 2016

“Tony. . . you would forfeit control of your suits, your technology,  _ yourself _ , to the government?”

“If it means someone’s life gets saved. . . yes.”

Bellona Drager could do nothing but stare at Tony Stark across the table in the middle of the Centre in Berlin. He had just finished explaining to her the Sokovian Accords situation and what it meant for him and the Avengers. After remaining silent for a long moment, Bellona approached him, taking the seat beside him and stretched her arms out onto the table before them, palms up. 

“I don’t think you understand what you’re doing, Tony,” she began, finding that one of her silver bracelets had vanished, which caused her some deep concern, but nevertheless removed the other and slipped it into her pocket. 

“Don’t give me that, Bella, it’s been troubling me for some time now-”

“So you think relinquishing your ability of choosing when to use your skills to the government — not just the U.S. government but the U.N., a group of governments notorious for sluggishly struggling to agree — is the solution?”

“Well, seeing as the option has been presented to us, yes.”

Without saying a word, Bellona brushed her fingers against the Soviet and HYDRA brands that darkened the pale skin of one wrist. Tony’s eyes were pulled to these markings. Immediately, she did the same to the U.S. and S.H.I.E.L.D. brands on her other wrist. 

“You should have done more research on cases where governments tied an enhanced individual to their beck and call.”

Tony’s mouth had fallen open in shock at her words, but he never had the chance to frame a response. 

The power throughout the Centre had been cut, plunging them all into darkness. With the lack of light, Bellona threw off her air ward, becoming visible to all — except none saw her.

“FRIDAY, get me a source on that outage?” Tony spoke into his earpiece instead, and Bellona’s attention was turned to where Steve and Sam were suddenly sprinting out of the room at a breakneck pace.

The moment the words  _ longing  _ and  _ rusted  _ slipped out of Zemo’s mouth, Bellona Drager’s head began to pound with the intensity of a brutal migraine, causing her to cry out and stagger, gripping the back of a nearby chair to support herself. Chaos was erupting around the group in the control room, Bellona could hardly comprehend her surroundings, her focus becoming internal as the Winter Soldier was activated for the first time in what had been a very, very long time. She was vaguely aware of Tony Stark shouting at her, attempting to pull her up and support her, but she shrugged him off with the ease of a super-soldier and suddenly found herself standing alert and intent as she knew the last word of the activation code had been uttered. Not caring what was happening around her, Bellona sprinted through the chaos that had erupted throughout the Centre, her tunnel-vision searching for one man.

“Tony, no!” She screamed upon stumbling onto the scene before her; Tony Stark, his hand encased in red and gold metal, sending another blast of energy from his suit towards the Winter Soldier. Neither of them seemed to hear her, however, and she froze, mind torn in half as the pair engaged in violent hand-to-hand combat that had her fumbling to make a decision of how to interrupt the fight — whose side was she to choose: the activated Winter Soldier, or Tony’s?

Her muscles remained locked in place until the Soldier sent Tony flying backwards, crashing painfully into a table and chairs, and Sharon Carter and Natasha Romanoff sprinted forwards to engage the Winter Soldier. Growling in irritation at how the situation had continued to spiral downwards, she leapt forward as Sharon Carter picked herself off from the ground where the Winter Soldier had flung her and went to attack him from behind, while Natasha had jumped him and was forcefully attempting cognitive recalibration by hitting him repeatedly over the head.

“Carter!” Bellona snapped, stepping in her path and aiming a kick at her head. The CIA agent ducked at the last minute, gasping loudly at the appearance of the girl and her fighting instincts immediately took hold. Shooting for a low blow towards the girl’s stomach, Sharon Carter however was just as a match for Bellona Drager as she was for the Winter Soldier; she found the Soviet-trained assassin snatching hold of her arm before the blow could be received, and used as leverage against her, flipping her backwards so she landed once more on the floor, groaning in pain as stars flickered before her vision. She was saved, however, a further encounter with the girl by the appearance of the king of Wakanda.

Noting the latest arrival, Bellona’s head snapped away from Sharon to see T’Challa engage the Soldier in a fight. Giving Peggy Carter’s niece one last glare, Bellona turned and sprinted up the stairs after the Winter Soldier. She spied T’Challa leaping over from another staircase, landing directly in front of the Soldier. Cursing loudly she dashed up towards the scene and screamed upon arriving, distracting both their attentions towards her. Her eyes locked on the Soldier’s immediately and T’Challa watched in fascinated horror as her piercing blue eyes glazed over with an obedient haze; suddenly orders were coursing through her brain, demanding her to obey without hesitation. Understanding what was occurring, T’Challa turned back towards the Soldier, catching him off guard, managed to throw him down the staircase, tumbling down with him as well. Having the advantage, and leaping to his feet first, T’Challa managed to sustain enough leverage over the Soldier to force him over the handrailing of the stairs, falling down to the floor beneath them. The whole situation occurring in a matter of heartbeats, he turned back to find himself face to face with the dark-haired girl with foggy eyes.

The king of Wakanda’s own eyes widened in horror as on the Soldier’s orders, a pale hand reached up towards one braid, unraveling the dark locks in an instant — a heartbeat later, a thunderstorm erupted inside the Centre. With the power of a centralized atomic bomb, winds notching nearly eighty miles an hours blew outwards from where the girl stood, accompanied by a violent burst of electricity which blew out every glass pane in the entire building, burst eardrums, interrupted satellite, radio, and wireless waves until every device in the building fizzled to death. The roar was a tornado moving in at full fury, sounding with a thousand cannons the destruction of all that was within range, with no regard for friend or foe. T’Challa found himself huddled on the floor, fearing for his life, horrified yet in awe of what was happening. 

The storm continued, shrieking through the Centre like a whirlwind of unleashed rage, but the girl had vanished, leaping down to the floor below and facing the Soldier, who awaited her.

“ _ Let’s go,” _ he muttered in Russian, turning and stalking away, the girl passively following his order, the two seemingly unaffected by the passion of the elements dancing around them.

 

Steve Rogers arrived on the scene in time to see the helicopter power up and begin to rise away from the helipad. Noting that not only was his best friend at the controls, but Bellona Drager, who as far as he knew, had literally just appeared upon the scene, was in the seat beside him, he sprinted towards the departing helicopter as though his life depended on it.

The fact Steve Rogers managed to prevent a helicopter from taking off with his muscles alone was a testament to the nature of the super-soldier serum he was injected with all those years ago. However, it simultaneously pissed Bellona Drager off.

“ _ Want me to take care of it?” _ she asked in Russian from her seat beside the Soldier.

_ “He will fall,” _ the Soldier replied confidently, applying more force to the controls and steering the helicopter away from the landing pad, attempting to shake the super-soldier off and into the water below.

Bellona growled in annoyance when this did not occur, her growl turning into a scream when the Soldier switched tactics, forcing the helicopter towards the other super-soldier, successfully spinning it out of control as it crashed onto the landing pad. 

_ “Window,” _ she muttered, after the helicopter had stopped spinning, thankful the Soldier had advised her to strap her seatbelt on before this had turned into a shitshow.

Listening to her intuition, the Soldier flung his metal arm through the window of the helicopter, grabbing the other super-soldier by the throat and squeezing. It seemed like a brilliant plan until the helicopter the two were in began to move — away from the helipad and towards the water below. Bellona Drager had time to let out a scream in Russian before the craft plunged down into the icy depths, taking the trio with it.


	82. June 24, 2016

“Hey, Cap,” Sam Wilson called out upon seeing the Winter Soldier groan into consciousness. The two Avengers stood before him and stared, watching as his eyes simply glazed over his surroundings: the compactor which held his metal arm motionless, the abandoned garage around them, even the two other men themselves.

“Where’s Bells?” He demanded in a mutter, sounding more as though he was speaking to himself than the others.

“She’s here,” the Falcon replied, crossing his arms and glaring down at the Soldier with suspicious intrigue.

“Where?”

“She’s fine, Buck,” Cap jumped into the conversation, taking a step towards the man he called his best friend.

The Soldier’s eyes snapped towards Captain America and the two super-soldiers stared each other down, neither of them seeing what they wanted to see in the other.

“ _ Where is she? _ ” the Winter Soldier growled, glaring at Captain America, watching as his jaw clenched and unclenched before he nodded his blond head.

“Get her, Sam.”

“What? You’ve got to be joking — you wanna give Soldier boy his favorite play toy back? Do you know how many people-”

“Sam!”

The Falcon let out a sigh of frustrated disbelief before turning on heel and stalking across the room to where the pair had let Bellona Drager lie, still unconscious from the fall. The Winter Soldier’s eyes tracked him with the practiced stealth of a predator. Captain America watched him curiously, studying his reactions as Sam carried Bellona into sight.

“She fell into the water with us, you both lost consciousness,” Cap explained, noting the tension that ran through the Soldier’s jaw when Sam placed the girl on the other side of the compactor that restrained his metal arm. He gripped it with his right hand as he leaned around to study a motionless Bellona Drager. “I managed to pull you both out — luckily Sam showed up to help. She hasn’t woken since.”

The Soldier nodded along to what Cap explained, though it fully appeared that the words failed to register with him, as he refused to remove his eyes from the dark-haired girl. The Captain and the Falcon lapsed into muddled silence, observing intently as the former U.S. Sergeant stretched out his right hand towards Bellona Drager. He snapped his fingers once, then twice, before murmuring something in a guttural Russian mutter. The pair watching were astonished to witness Bellona Drager’s eyes fly open as she jolted forwards and up off the floor; she scanned the room until her eyes caught the Winter Soldier’s as she froze, staring at him with obedient expectancy.

“Bells,” he returned to English, “focus.”

Bellona gazed at him in bewilderment, murmuring in Russian under her breath before her shoulders slumped and she crumbled against the opposite side of the heavy compactor holding the Soldier’s metal arm. His other arm snatched her by the elbow and pulled her around the compactor and towards him to settle her between his knees in a lightning flash of movement that had the two Avengers taking an instinctive step forwards. This motion attracted the attention of the pair of assassins; they glanced up at Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson as though seeing them for the first time in ages.

“Steve. . . “

“Which Bucky am I talking to?”

There was a brief silence as Bucky Barnes deliberated on this question, his right hand clutching Bellona’s shoulder as though to ground him in reality. A morbid laugh then broke through his lips. “Your mom’s name was Sarah. . . you used to wear newspapers in your shoes. . .”

Relief dawned behind Steve Roger’s eyes. “You can’t read that in a museum.”

“What did we do?” Bucky demanded immediately after his identity had been confirmed.

“Enough,” came the answer.

“Oh God I knew this would happen. . . Everything HYDRA put inside of me is still there — all he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“I’m sorry, I hate to interrupt this discussion, but I don’t think ‘enough’ describes the situation very well,” Sam snatched up the mantle of the conversation, raising a hand and looking very irritable. All heads snapped towards him; having the three super-soldiers’ undivided attention unnerved him for a bit, but he continued nonetheless. “You both broke your way through a high-security facility, which was more or less decimated thanks to whatever he told you to do with whatever was in that braid.” Sam Wilson alternated between pointing between Bucky Barnes and Bellona Drager, finally settling on the latter.

Bellona’s gasp was guilt-ridden and utterly petrified. Her hand flashed up to explore the loose mass of dark locks that waved, now gently, about her head. 

“No. . .” she groaned, her hands clutching her hair as she turned to lock eyes with Bucky, receiving her answer in their aqua depths. “Why?”

“I didn’t,” Bucky replied with a grimace, “the doc did. Whoever he was.”

“The words?”

“Yeah.”

“ _ Shit. _ In the Centre itself?”

“Damn right!” Sam invaded their obscure conversation. “A dozen, probably more people are dead. Even more injured because Soldier Boy here told you-”

“Sam!” Steve snapped, “that’s enough. Bucky, who was the doctor interrogating you?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead,” Steve said with determination. “The bombing, the setup, all of it. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than I don’t know.”

Bucky grimaced, glancing down at Bellona at his feet before meeting Steve’s eyes again. “He wanted to know about Siberia. Where we were kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?”

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

Bellona tensed up at his words, turning back to scrutinize him, a question in her eyes which Bucky answered with a nod. She scowled before turning back to Steve and Sam. “Years back, HYDRA brought in a group of highly-trained assassins with the goal of enhancing them further: they were given super-soldier serum that HYDRA managed to procure. We helped train them.”

“Who were they?”

“The most elite death squad,” Bucky’s answer was morbid. “More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

“They all turn out like you?”

“Worse.”

“Not as bad as me,” Bellona’s mutter earned a sharp nudge from Bucky’s knee, which she returned with a scowl.

“The doctor,” Steve pushed, though he was frowning at Bellona’s side-comment, “could he control them?”

“Enough,” Bucky replied.

“He said he wanted to see an empire fall,” Steve recalled, growing increasingly uncomfortable with where the situation was heading.

“With these guys he could do it. They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night. You’d never see them coming.”

“I despise them,” Bellona growled, dropping her head into her palms and massaging her temples. Bucky’s metal hand, which she believed none had noticed her silent manipulation to lift the compactor off it, but everyone had, dropped to squeeze her shoulder while Sam and Steve muttered between themselves for a bit.

“Bucky,” Bellona murmuring, turning so she sat cross-legged on the ground before him. Staring up at him with huge, worried blue eyes, she raised both her hands so he could clearly observe the brands on her wrists. Then he realized what was missing.

“The bracelets. . . ”

“They’re gone,” she groaned, “I don’t know where but I do know I’m not getting them back. . . ”

Bucky’s own hands dropped and he took hers in his. “You don’t need them.”

“Obviously I do,” she whined, quickly growing anxious before him as her words hinted back at the destruction that had swept the Terrorism Centre in Berlin.

“ _ Calm down _ ,” he growled in Russian, staring into her eyes and watching as her brain immediately responded to his order. She ceased biting her lip and jogging her leg before him, albeit giving him a glare of annoyance because of it.

“Hey, you two, we’re talking to you. We’re trying to strategize how to worm our way out of this and maybe it would nice if we had the input of some master assassins-”

“Whatever your plan is, it’s probably stupid,” Bellona retort was snappy as she turned to stare Sam Wilson down. She could sense the growing enmity that he held for the former Winter Soldier and knew it wasn’t going to play out pretty.

“Why do I get the feeling this is gonna end in another fight,” Bucky groaned as he pulled himself up to his feet before reaching down to lend a hand to Bellona.

Steve sighed, shooting Sam a look to prevent him from making a remark back at Bellona. “It probably will.”


	83. June 24, 2016

“And I don’t suppose you have any idea where they are?” The Secretary of State wandered into the room in the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre where Tony Stark sat, brooding over all that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours. 

“We will,” Tony glanced quickly at Secretary Ross then away again. “GSG 9’s got the borders covered. Recon’s flying twenty four-seven. They’ll get a hit. We’ll handle it.”

“You don’t get it, Stark. It’s not yours to handle,” Ross’s reply was resolute. “It’s clear you can’t be objective. Particularly now that Drager decided to join the little party of enhanced criminals. I’m putting special ops on this.”

“What happens when the shooting starts?” Natasha Romanoff demanded, “what, do you kill Steve Rogers?”

“If we’re provoked,” Secretary Ross did not seem phased at the potential death of the national icon. “Barnes, and Drager too, would have been eliminated in Romania if it wasn’t for Rogers.” 

At these words, Tony Stark sent the Secretary of State a stunned look as he slowly sunk back into his chair, allowing Ross’s harsh tone to wash over him as he continued. “There are  _ dead people,  _ that would be  _ alive _ now. Feel free to check my math.”

“All due respect, you’re not gonna solve this with boys and bullets, Ross,” Tony snapped. “You gotta let us bring them in.”

“How would that end any differently than last time?”

“Because this time, I won’t be wearing loafers and a silk shirt,” Tony stared Ross down. “Seventy-two hours, guaranteed.”

“Thirty-six hours,” Ross countered after a moment, meeting Stark’s stare with as much fervor before beginning to walk out of the room. “Barnes. Rogers. Wilson. Drager.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ross failed to see Tony Stark’s wince at the mention of the last name before the door closed behind him. Tony met Natasha’s gaze and let out an anxious sigh, leaning forward to massage his collarbone. “My left arm is numb, is that normal?”

Natasha stood, closing the space between the two Avengers with a few steps. “You alright?” She placed a worried arm on his shoulder.

“Always,” came his quick response. “Thirty-six hours. Jeez.”

“We’re seriously understaffed,” Natasha muttered out of the side of her mouth to Tony.

“Oh, yeah,” he sat back in his chair, looking up at the Black Widow. “It’d be great if we had a Hulk, right about now. Any shot?”

Natasha shook her head in disbelief. “You really think he’d be on our side?”

Tony frowned at this, gazing across the room. “No.”

“I have an idea,” the redhead finally murmured.

“Me too,” Tony turned back towards her. “Where’s yours?”

“Downstairs,” Nat gave Tony a suspicious glance. “Where’s  _ yours? _ ”

 

 


	84. June 25, 2016

 

“Bella how long can it take you to hotwire a car?”

“Four seconds.”

“Good because I got us one.”

“Please tell me it’s not  _ that  _ one.”

“It’s that one.”

“Jesus, Cap, do you know nothing about maintaining anonymity? Of all cars to pick-”

“Bella, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Fine. I’ll hotwire it, but I wanna drive.”

“No,” came the response from not only Steve Rogers, but Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes in unison as well.

“Shotgun, then!” she exclaimed in exasperation upon this negative response, after placing a palm down on the hood of the tiny blue Volkswagen Beetle and the car’s engine fired up in reaction.

“Oh, hell no,” Sam quipped, sprinting to the car’s passenger door and jumping in as quickly as he could. “You can take the back, with your murder boyfriend. Just please don’t blow us skyhigh-”

“Everyone just get in the car!” Steve Rogers groaned in annoyance at the increasingly juvenile antics that were beginning to occur between the three. Rolling her eyes at Steve and shooting Sam a taunting grin, Bellona hopped into the less-than-spacious backseat of the Beetle and was soon joined by Bucky, whom she immediately began to tease.

“Wow, sure am glad I’m not that tall. I can’t imagine how sitting back here would be if you were over six feet-”

“Quiet!” Steve Rogers snapped simultaneously as Sam Wilson hissed, “shut up!” at the girl in the back, so they could figure out the best route to depart the garage and meet up with Sharon Carter — who apparently, ‘had their stuff.’ Bucky Barnes, however, had different ideas of how to get the loud-mouthed girl to be quiet. The close quarters of the Volkswagen made it more than easy for him to reach over, pull her into his lap, and kiss her full on the mouth.

“Okay that's enough, I appreciate the quiet but honestly I don't want to see a makeout session between two psycho assassins. I think you've both caused enough psychological damage to not only myself but also Steve here,” Sam began complaining after a few minutes while Steve was paying more attention to figuring out the controls of the car and pulling it onto the road. “Cap, tell them to stop! They're grossing me out!”

Steve had evidently only just realized now what was happening in the backseat of the Beetle, and had to swerve to miss the car in front of him. The loud honking of the car’s horn didn’t prevent the occupants of the Beetle from hearing Steve splutter out, “um. . . so you two. . . do, uh, you guys, you know — fondue?”

The pair was forced to part because they were overcome with hysterical laughter aimed at both Steve and Sam in the front of the Beetle.

“My God, Steve, you’re still using that phrase?” Bucky laughed while Bellona was smiling sweetly up at Sam, “I thought you wanted me to stop talking?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to witness Soldier Boy’s tongue down your throat!” Sam whined like a child forced to watch a horror movie.

“You could have turned around.”

Steve broke in before the argument could heat up anymore. “So, uh, how long have you two been, you know. . .”

“Eating each other’s faces?” Sam suggested, earning glares from both in the backseat.

“I was going to say, um, a pair?”

“December second, 1991,” Bellona replied automatically while at the same time Bucky answered with, “December twenty-first, 2015.” The two froze and stared at each other curiously upon this.

“I was referring to when you first kissed me,” Bucky explained with a snort.

“Oh, I thought he was asking since when we’ve been doing things together. . .”

“I’m so grossed out,” Sam still refused to get over what he had witnessed. “Now they’re looking at each other with these gooey puppy eyes, I feel like I’m watching some Shakespeare-”

“Sam,” Steve’s voice contained a hint of warning and the Falcon reluctantly lowered his grievances to a low mutter. “So after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell,” Steve addressed the pair in the back, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. Bucky had his gleaming silver arm wrapped around Bellona like she was a national treasure and his sole job was so ensure its safety. Her head had drifted down to rest on his shoulder as she yawned her exhaustion despite having been unconscious for several hours. Steve paused upon seeing them, taking note of the way his best friend was looking at the girl in his arms. “You two met up and vanished together?”

“More or less,” Bucky replied, not bothering to lift his eyes to glance at Steve.

“Where did you go?”

“Starbucks,” Bellona said sleepily, “actually we went to your apartment first so I could get my stuff, then got coffee after we went binge-shopping to get rid of all the U.S. cash I had on me. Then we flew to Europe.”

“Ended up in Germany, then France, then Germany again. . .”

“Then Austria. I wanted to go to Italy but  _ someone _ didn’t want to go there. . .”

“Ended up staying in Romania. Until now.”

“Do you have any idea how long we spent looking for you two?” Sam sounded incredibly annoyed. “I think Tony Stark aged twenty years searching for you, Bella.”

“Where did you get all this money to travel?” Steve asked as he turned the car onto the highway. “And without someone picking up on it?”

“I’m rich,” Bellona explained simply, feeling the contracting panels of Bucky’s metal arm as it tightened around her slumping body. “Tony gave me access to his server, which he kept having to hack and rewrite so he could try to trace me. He never did.”

“Why stay in a rundown apartment in Bucharest if you have access to unlimited, untraceable resources?”

“Anonymity — which you clearly don’t understand, based on this car choice, Rogers,” Bellona snickered at Steve’s expense. “Yeah I totally could have bought mansions around the globe to play hide-and-seek in, but we’d have been found pretty quickly, don’t you think?”

“Why didn’t you want anyone to find you, though?” Steve’s voice was carefully controlled. “Even us.”

“I think the Accords answer that pretty well. . .”

There was a rattling silence at the mention of the Sokovian Accords throughout the small car. Until Bucky ventured to ask what the hell the Accords were. Steve briefly gave him a rundown, which produced the exact reaction he was expecting from the former HYDRA asset. One of disgusted horror at the possibility of governments controlling the enhanced.

“What I don’t understand,” Steve began, “is why you came out of hiding twice to come see us.”

“She fell asleep,” Bucky responded in a hushed voice that was almost awed. He gently pulled Bellona back into his lap, her head resting on his chest, her legs stretched out across the seat to his left. “But she had these gut intuition moments when she knew something was up.”

“She always came back?”

“Yeah.”

“You two managed to stay in Romania for an entire year without getting traced until now?”

“We left one time. Briefly.”

“Where?”

“Boston. As stupid as it sounds, we went to see her old house.”

“How’d it go?”

“She asphyxiated the housekeeper, had a few breakdowns, discovered some insane facts about her past and we both got drunk off Stark’s super-soldier alcohol, but we came out alive.”

“She  _ asphyxiated the housekeeper? _ ” Both Sam and Steve’s voices were astonished. “How?”

“She snaps her fingers and all the air in your lungs is sucked out; you suffocate in seconds, sometimes from the shock alone.”

“Holy  _ shit _ !” Sam had snapped his head around to stare at the sleeping girl who looked like an innocent maiden out of an ancient legend. But the information Barnes had just told him; that she literally held such power over life and death in her hands was shocking, even to those who were aware of her abilities.

“What have you guys been doing for two years?” Steve steered the topic into safer waters.

“Buying plums,” came Bellona’s sleep-filled mumble. “Can we stop for coffee?”

“I don’t think now’s the best time, Bella,” Steve replied, finding her request ludicrous but humorous in the situation they faced at the moment. 

“She fell asleep again,” Bucky’s voice was amused when the car had descended back into silence.

“She woke up to ask for coffee and fell back asleep?” Sam was finding himself dumbfounded at everything Bellona Drager did.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. “Shut up or you’ll wake her up again.”

“Relax, old man,” sarcasm laced Sam’s voice, “isn’t she a little young for you anyways?”

“She’s gonna be forty-three this year,” Steve noted as he pulled the car off the highway and onto an overpass to switch directions. “Bucky is ninety-eight. There’s a slight age gap.”

“She could pass for twenty-five,” Sam observed, “ Barnes could pass for twenty-seven.”

“You could pass for being quiet if you learned how to shut the fuck up,” Bellona moaned, having been awakened by Sam’s chatter.

“So shut the fuck up,” Bucky finished, sending the Falcon a stark glare.

Sam turned completely around in his seat, flicking his eyes between the two in the back, his facial expression verging on controlled insanity before he turned back to look at Steve.

“Whatever you’re gonna say, don’t say it,” Steve warned him, but Sam took no heed of this, narrowing his eyes furiously.

“I just can’t believe them!” he burst out, “we’ve been following leads on them all around the world, busting our asses, while they’ve been sitting in Romanian cafés drinking espresso!”

“Oh good,” Bellona murmured from the back, “you were picking up on my ghost trails.”

“Ghost trails?” Sam whipped around to glare at her, “you’re telling me you’ve been leaving false trails around the world for us to follow like Hansel and Gretel?”

“Yes,” she raised her head to smirk at him. “And it worked.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable!” 

“I'm sorry I'm smarter than you, Wilson,” she goaded him.

“And I'm sorry your jacket doesn't cover the tremendous amount of hickies on your neck.” 

Bellona gasped mockingly but made no move to inch the collar of her jacket over her neck. Bucky, meanwhile, merely snickered like a schoolboy caught breaking the rules.

“What are you two, fifteen?” Sam was still going on, “I suppose Barnes here likes to make his mark on things-”

“Sam,” Steve's voice had risen in warning, none of them wanted an angry Winter Soldier in the backseat of a cramped Volkswagen Beetle, or an angry Bellona Drager for that matter. “That's enough, all of you. Remember what we’re doing, we’re all on the same side here, no matter what's happened in the past.”

“Way to kill the mood, Cap,” Bellona snorted, dropping her head onto Bucky’s shoulder and sighing. “We were all having some fun, taking shots at each other, and you had to make it serious.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head but keeping his eyes on the road. “I wouldn't call that the best way to have fun.”

“I wouldn't call driving in this stupid car the best way to go kill psycho Russian assassins.”

“I wouldn't call your relationship with Barnes healthy,” Sam interjected suddenly.

“Sam!” Steve snapped, shooting a look over at the Falcon because they all felt the sharp, chilling tension that had dropped into the air and emanated from the Winter Soldier. “You're the one acting like a child.”

“I can't get over what is happening right now! Seriously? Look — she fell asleep on him again, it's  _ sickening _ . They just broke their way out of a high-security establishment, killing a dozen people, and now they're sitting in the backseat gazing into each other's eyes and fawning over each other like, like Romeo and Juliet or some shit. I don't know what's scarier, the fact that they can literally murder me in an unnecessary amount of ways, or make me commit suicide by being all cutesy together.”

“She's trying to sleep, Wilson,” Bucky hissed in a low voice, but Bellona’s eyelids lifted slightly anyways. 

“Yeah, your voice wakes her up more than anything. I could scream and she'd still be passed out but if Barnes moves a pinky she's wide awake-”

“WILSON!” Bellona snarled viciously, flinging herself upwards and lunging forward, towards the man in the front passenger seat. If Bucky hadn’t grabbed her and pulled her back she likely would have gifted Sam with a black eye or broken nose. “Bucky let me go! I wanna shut him up!” She struggled against his iron grip around her while Steve was yelling at them all to be quiet and Sam was making horrified noises with his mouth wide open, as though he didn't know what churlish remark to make in response to this.

“Enough!” Steve shouted, pulling the car to a sudden stop under an overpass with such force that, seeing as none of the Beetle’s occupants had bothered with seatbelts, sent all passengers tumbling about the small interior of the car. 

“Was that really necessary?” Sam yelped, relieved the airbag hadn’t deployed directly in his face. 

“Seeing as you all lack maturity, yes,” Steve replied, glaring about the car before flicking a finger ahead to where a car had pulled in just ahead of them. “Sharon’s here.”


	85. June 25, 2016

“Now, if I get out of the car, are we going to behave ourselves?” Steve Rogers asked in a voice he would use with a bunch of surly teenagers, locking eyes with the three occupants of the stolen Volkswagen Beetle in turn. Satisfied when he received an obedient nod from all, he opened the driver’s door and stepped out to meet Sharon Carter.

There was silence within the Beetle while the trio watched as the Captain began speaking to the blond-haired former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

“Can you move your seat up?” Bucky demanded out of the blue.

“No,” came Sam’s immediate shot back. 

Without a word, Bucky casually lifted Bellona up from where she sat behind the driver’s seat, moved over so he now sat in her seat, and settled her on his lap. She chuckled quietly for a moment while Sam shook his head at them in disbelief.

A few more minutes passed, which included a lot of the trio staring at the pair outside and making awkward eye contact with them. Until Steve and Sharon moved even closer to the other and the next thing their three person audience knew, the pair was kissing right before their eyes.

“Jesus, what is today? National kiss a super-soldier day?” Sam groaned while Bucky began snickering and Bellona’s jaw had dropped. When the pair outside separated, and Steve turned back to realize what everyone in the car had witnessed, a sheepish grin grew on his face as Sam and Bucky grinned in boyish camaraderie at him and Bellona mimed clapping.

“My boyfriend’s best friend just kissed my cousin,” Bellona stated suddenly, causing Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes to gawk at her.

“Sharon Carter? Is your cousin?” Sam was flabbergasted. “No way in hell.”

“Yes, way in hell,” Bellona snorted, rolling her eyes. “I might not remember everything, but I remember some things. My mother’s name was Maria Carter. Peggy Carter was  _ her  _ cousin — that’s Sharon’s aunt who just passed away. So by some family denomination: Agent Thirteen, former S.H.I.E.L.D. employee, is related to me.”

“Wait, I’m your boyfriend?” Bucky asked with a shit-eating grin on his face, sending Bellona into another fit of eye-rolling. “I don’t recall ever asking you on a ‘date’.”

“He better be your boyfriend because  _ I’m  _ not, even though I thought  _ I  _ was Cap’s best friend,” Sam remarked sassily.

“You two are intolerable,” Bellona sighed, as Steve tossed his shield and Sam’s wings into the trunk, then tugged open the driver’s side door.

“You can say that again,” Steve chuckled, slipping into the driver’s seat and shot a look at Bellona — doing a double-take when he spotted her in Bucky’s lap. With a grin, she pressed a hand to the inside side of the car just under one of the back windows and the car roared to life again. 

“Bella here was just making some remarks about you and Sharon,” Sam informed the captain.

“Oh really?” they all noticed the blush that had crept up Steve’s neck.

“Yeah, did you know they’re related?”

“What?”

“Peggy was my mother’s cousin,” Bellona explained with a grin, slipping off Bucky’s lap and sitting cross-legged on the seat behind Sam. “My mother was Maria Carter before she married.”

Sam Wilson shook his head. “So let’s see here, Howard and Maria Stark’s goddaughter, the Winter Soldier’s lover, Peggy Carter’s cousin, Tony Stark’s ‘sister’, oh, and let’s not forget you’re the Dragers’ daughter. Is there anyone else who’s anybody that you’re related to?”

“Well are there any more possessives you wanna tack onto me?” Bellona asked snarkily.

“Enough, you two,” Steve declared. He snatched a glance in the rearview mirror of Bellona in the backseat. “You ever meet Peggy?”

“I think so,” Bellona frowned at her memory gaps. “Can’t remember specifics though.”

“Right,” Steve’s breathing was shallow. “Well, let’s keep moving.”

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked immediately as Steve pulled the car back onto the highway. “Do we have a plan?”

“To get backup, then hopefully make it to Siberia before the doctor does.”

“Is backup going to be enough?” Bucky frowned at the obscurity of the statement.

“What, big bad soldier boy and his girl don’t need backup?” Sam taunted. “Not good enough for you?”

Bucky sent him a stony look. “I’m not really interested in risking more lives.”

“Well consider it the price you pay for running from us and waiting for the entire world to find you instead,” Sam informed him brusquely.

“The world seemed to like it better when we were in hiding,” Bellona’s retort was instant.

“You might think that, but you’re wrong,” Sam told her flatly, “the world doesn’t revolve around two former HYDRA agents. Sometimes you gotta think of other people.”

“We were — why do you think we went off the grid? Because clearly when we’re on the grid, people end up dead,” Bellona scowled up at the Falcon, whose back remained towards her in the seat directly in front of her, though she could sense the increased tension within the Beetle. “Staying in hiding was a hell of a lot more relaxing than the shit we’re in now; I’m sure that applies to everyone — you, Steve, Tony, Nat, the others. The world, even.”

“No, you don’t get it, Bellona,” her given name sounded accusatory on Sam’s tongue as he turned to meet her cold gaze. “You and Barnes being missing was not  _ relaxing.  _ For anyone. Yeah, you were drinking coffee and what, buying fruit? In picturesque little Romanian towns. We weren’t. We were pooling our resources to find you before someone bad did. To protect you. To help you. For chrissake, Cap pulled Barnes out of the water after he tried to  _ kill _ him. And do you know what Stark did after you vanished that last time from the Compound?”

The question hung in the air, silence having muted the passengers within the Volkswagen, which drove monotonously down the German highway. None dared to shatter the quiet until Sam continued.

“Do you know what he did?” he was staring Bellona down now. He watched the muscles under the bruised skin of her throat move in anxiety as she gulped, her words failing her. “ _ The man cried, _ ” Sam told her, a hint of pity dripping into his voice, not only for the genius billionaire but also for the now guilt-filled girl in the backseat of the car. He forced himself to continue, despite the flickering in her bright blue eyes. “Tony Stark — bawled like a baby because he thought he had finally lost you. Because he thought that since you had willingly come back, you would have stayed. So when you willingly  _ left  _ — that’s different than falling from the Tower when Ultron attacked.”

Bellona finally sighed, biting her lip as she massaged her temple with a hand. “Sam. . .  Tony misses the girl who was reported dead twenty something years ago in an explosion.”

“And Cap here misses his best friend from the nineteen forties,” Sam added, and both Bucky and Steve stiffened at their sudden involvement in the conversation.

“Well we aren’t those people anymore. We’re not what people remember us as.”

“Yeah, but neither are Steve and Tony.”


	86. June 25, 2016

“I smell a fight,” Bellona muttered as Bucky exited the car on the opposite side of Steve Rogers. He reached a hand out to help her which she accepted gratefully.

“We all do,” he replied as she came to stand beside him, looking over at the other van in the parking lot.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, upon seeing its occupants. “Clint. . .”

“Who?” Bucky asked, but Bellona had already sprinted around the Beetle to greet the other Avengers.

“Clint!” Bellona exclaimed, a grin spreading across her face upon sighting the equally sarcastic Avenger.

“Bella,” the archer replied, returning the grin. “Hope you’ve been staying out of trouble, despite what I’ve seen on the news.”

“Never trust the media,” Bellona sang as she leaned in for a hug. Then she pulled back and locked eyes with Wanda. The two girls shared an understanding nod between them; both finding it within themselves a sort of respect for the other. 

“Wanda,” the former Soviet assassin greeted her quietly.

“Hello, Bellona,” the Scarlet Witch said with a smile.

“How about our other recruit?” Steve turned to Clint, relieved the two girls had sorted out whatever differences they possessed and could now work together for a common goal.

“He’s rarin’ to go,” Clint said, opening the back door of the white van they had pulled up in. “Had to put a little coffee in him — but he should be good.”

Bellona laughed lightly at the surprised looking man in the back of the van, and also at the concerned look Steve shared with Sam, who simply reclined his head in response. She glanced back to look at Bucky, who was watching the situation unfold from his spot behind the car, where he was able to avoid everyone’s attention while simultaneously keeping everyone in his line of vision.

“What time zone is this?” the man asked as he was ushered out of the car by Clint and pushed towards Steve Rogers. A starstruck look passed over his face as his eyes landed on the war hero. “Captain America?”

“Mr. Lang,” Steve shook his hand.

“It’s an honor. . . I’m shaking your hand too long — wow, this is awesome! Captain America!” he turned to Wanda and pointed at Steve, before pointing back at the Sokovian. “I know you, too. You’re great!”

Internally exploding with laughter, Bellona had to rest a hand on the blue Volkswagen Beetle as Lang took a moment to appreciate Cap’s muscles. Steve turned to glance at her, and she in turn looked at Bucky, who simply shrugged, bewildered.

“Jeez. Look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so thinks for thanking of me.”

Bellona and Wanda shared a look at his jumbled sentence as Lang turned to Sam. “Hey, man!”

“What’s up, Tic Tac?”

“Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I. . .”

“It was a great audition, but it’ll never happen again,” Sam chuckled.

“They tell you what we’re up against?” Steve asked him.

“Something about some psycho-assassins?” Lang frowned as his gaze then landed on a still giggling Bellona. “Uh. . .” he tilted his head in confusion as his words and the girl he was looking at seemed to coincide. Realizing the attention of the scene was on her, Bellona straightened, spreading her arms as though inviting someone to challenge her.

Glancing a look at her and sighing, Steve reclaimed Lang’s attention. “We’re outside the law on this one. So if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new.”

“We should get moving,” Bucky finally spoke up, all eyes drawn to him now.

“We got a chopper lined up,” Clint replied, just seconds before the PA turned on and a man began speaking in German.

“They’re evacuating the airport,” Bucky and Bellona translated simultaneously, shooting each other a grim look as they did because they knew their foresight earlier was now proving correct.

Sam turned to Steve, “Stark.”

Lang frowned in confusion, “Stark?”

Bellona sucked in a breath, “Tony?”


	87. June 25, 2016

“This is gonna end  _ so _ badly,” Bellona groaned, dropping her head into her hands, her fingers running along the length of the now single braid she sported. 

“Maybe not,” Sam Wilson replied. He, Bellona Drager, and Bucky Barnes were waiting in one of the airport terminals, while Red Wing surveyed the area, searching for the Quinjet. Meanwhile, Steve Rogers had run out towards the helicopter, with the plan of intercepting Tony Stark.

“No, it probably is,” Bellona said with a scowl.

“Can you hear what’s happening outside?” Bucky asked her, maintaining eye contact with her anxious blue eyes.

Biting her lip, she frowned in concentration as she squinted furiously, focusing on the air around her. “Yeah. . .”

“-Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in. That was twenty-four hours ago. Can you help a brother out?”

“You’re after the wrong guy.”

“Your judgement is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday.”

“Not just  _ my _ old war buddy, Tony.”

“Don’t bring Bella into this-”

“You can’t try to pretend Bella isn’t just as involved in this as we all are. You’re gonna have to face that real soon. Along with the fact that there are five more super-soldiers just like her and Bucky. I can’t let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can’t.”

Sam interrupted Bellona’s listening as he elbowed her in the side to get her attention. “Ow! Uncalled for!”

“What’s going on outside? Red Wing’s searching the hangars so I have no reconnaissance where Cap is.”

“Tony’s trying to reason but his logic is poor, Cap’s trying to reason but Tony’s not listening. T’Challa and Nat just showed up. . .  and some kid in a spider costume.”

“What?” Sam and Bucky questioned, baffled.

“I dunno, he introduced himself as Spider-Man, I think Tony recruited him or something. . .”

“Keep listening,” Bucky encouraged her.

“-and you’ve been a complete idiot.” Bellona closed her eyes and focused on the voices across the airport. “Dragging in Clint; ‘rescuing’ Wanda from a place she doesn’t even wanna leave, a  _ safe _ place; bringing Bella into all of this just because Barnes is involved. . . I’m trying to keep my family — I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

“You did that when you signed.”

“All right, we’re done. You’re gonna bring me Barnes and Bella and you’re gonna come with us, because it’s  _ us,  _ or a squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction about being impolite.”

“We found it,” Sam pulled Bellona back as he spoke through their earpieces. “The Quinjet’s in hangar five, north runway.”

“Let’s go,” Bucky said, placing his metal hand on Bellona’s shoulder and meeting her eyes. He spotted brief hesitation within her sapphire orbs and frowned at this. “Bells-”

“I’m fine,” her hesitation was blinked away and she shook her head, her braid cutting through the air like a knife. “Let’s go.” And the trio began sprinting through the terminal towards hangar five.

“Jesus,” Bellona hissed as the shrieking of the glass above alerted them to another presence.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky queried out loud as they continued running, the super-soldiers staying at a steady jog to keep pace with the Falcon.

“Everybody’s got a gimmick now,” Sam grumbled in response.

“Incoming!” Bellona shouted as the Spider kid broke through the glass and came flying at Sam, who was knocked away from the pair. “I said incoming, Wilson.”

Bucky turned to engage the newcomer, flinging out his metal arm in a well-aimed punch, only to have his arm caught and stopped. “You have a metal arm?” Bellona’s jaw had dropped; whoever was under the red and blue suit sounded as though they hadn’t been through puberty yet. “That is awesome, dude!”

The Falcon then rose up from where he had fallen, snatching up the Spiderling and flying off with him.

“What the hell just happened?” Bellona asked Bucky, who was recovering from the shock of having his usually uncontested metal arm stopped full force.

“I have no idea,” the former sergeant shook his head, “but let’s keep going.”

The pair sprinted to where Sam had been obliged to drop the spider boy, coming to a halt behind one of the tall poles displaying multiple ads in the middle of the terminal. 

“Wait, I have an idea,” Bucky said, gesturing for Bellona to duck behind the pole with him. 

“Can it please be something like, ‘hey Bella, why don’t you just take this kid out using air manipulation or something really easy to end this stupid fight immediately’?”

“Uh, no it was nothing like that, actually,” Bucky admitted as he snuck over to seize one of the heavy signs displaying terminals that had fallen from the ceiling when the spider child had been chasing Sam. “Wanna give it a boost?”

“Are you kidding me?” Bellona mumbled but obeyed nonetheless, assisting in the forced flight through the air of the damaged sign, guiding it directly towards where the spider hatchling had paused on one of the beams stretching across the airport ceiling. “That was so stupid!”

Bucky ignored her; he dragged her back behind the pole in an attempt to hide their location. Instead, a shout of, “hey, buddy, I think you lost this!” echoed across the terminal and the pair had no choice but to sprint away as the sign came crashing back down towards them.  

“I told you!” Bellona snapped as they began charging towards where Sam was still battling it out. “Let me take him out of this!”

“He’s just a kid, Bells,” Bucky sighed, “save it for Siberia.”

“Tony recruited him to fight us, HYDRA kidnapped me when I was arguably ‘just a kid’ too, that’s no excuse-”

“Bells, not now,” he muttered as they approached where the spider high schooler had webbed the Falcon to a glass wall.

“I don’t know if you’ve been in a fight before but there’s usually not this much talking,” Sam was telling the kid.

“All right, sorry, my bad,” the spider boy said before leaping at the Falcon just as Bucky lunged towards him, catching him before he could collide with Sam. Bellona watched with icy eyes as the three crashed down in a shower of glass and hero suits to the floor below. She stepped close to the broken area to look at them; the spider freshman had webbed Sam’s wings to the floor and did the same to Bucky’s metal arm. She snickered under her breath at this.

“Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve got two jobs here today; one is not to touch the girl with the blue eyes and the other is to basically just impress Mr. Stark, so I’m really sorry-”

Bellona was attempting to make eye contact with Bucky but before she managed, Red Wing flew in and forcefully dragged the spider kid out of the terminal as he screamed hysterically.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” Bucky groaned from the floor.

“I hate you,” came Sam’s reply. 

“You’re both stupid,” Bellona remarked as she casually hopped over the edge, toying with the air molecules to soften her landing the same lighthearted way a child plays with sand. She came to a stop right before the two men, both still immobile, webbed to the floor. “That whole fight was completely unnecessary; if I could have just taken care of him-”

“What were you waiting for then?” Sam asked irritably.

“The order,” Bellona snapped as though it should have been obvious to him. 

“Bells, he was a kid,” Bucky protested.

“A kid that could shoot webs and lift three hundred pounds!” Sam barked over at him. “Bella, can you get us out of this shit or do you need Barnes’ permission for that to?”

“Wilson-” Bucky began in a warning tone but made eye contact with Bellona and before the two men knew it, the spider webbing that had bound them so securely had been burnt to crisps.

“Are we gonna argue some more or are we gonna keep going?” the displeased girl demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at the pair.

“Keep going,” Sam and Bucky replied in unison and the trio sprinted out of the terminal.

“Come on!” Steve shouted over at the three of them as they made their way onto the runway outside. Wanda, Clint, and Lang joined them as well. The group, however, was paused almost instantly by the appearance of Vision, as he carved a line into the cement before them, forcing them all to a stop.

“Hey, Bells,” Bucky whispered, turning so his aqua eyes met her dancing blue ones.

“Yeah?”

“Improvise.”

“What?”

“You heard me, improvise. Do what you need to get us out of here. Free rein-”

“Captain Rogers, I know you believe what you’re doing is right,” Vision began, interrupting the pair’s conversation, as Tony, Natasha, Rhodey, T’Challa, and Spider-Man came to stand and face the group. “But for the collective good, you must surrender now.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellona let out a dark laugh, causing all to turn and stare at her incredulously. “Did he just mention something about the ‘collective good’? Because last time someone was concerned with the ‘collective good’, they wanted to kill millions of people to ‘make the world a better place’.”

“Bellona, you misinterpret my statement-”

“No, Vision, no,” Bellona shook her head, raising a hand because it looked as if Tony was about to cut in. “Anyone who’s ever wanted something for the collective good has ended up ruining people’s lives. Don’t give me that bullshit-”

“Bella!” Tony finally broke in, “you’re only standing over there because you’re programmed to obey Barnes. If-”

“No!” Bellona snarled acrimoniously, “I’m standing over here because I appreciate the freedom of being an autonomous individual, seeing as I had that stolen from me. You want to give it up willingly!”

“You just proved my point!”

“I’m the one trying to make a point here!”

Tony looked about to growl a scathing retort, but Natasha placed a warning hand on the lower arm of his suit and he dropped into a vitriolic silence.

“What do we do, Cap?” Sam finally murmured through the team’s earpieces.

“We fight.”

“Hey, guys, can I take Vision?” Bellona asked through the team’s shared coms as the two groups of enhanced heroes and villains began stalking towards each other.

“Uh, Bella,” Steve sounded hesitant, “Thor said something about that yellow stone in his head being one of the most destructive forces in the universe so I’m not sure. . .”

“Bucky said improvise.”

“Bells, is that the best idea-”

“But you said-”

All talking instantly ceased as the two sides collided into each other like perfectly balanced battering rams; each struggling to find a vulnerability in their opponent. Bucky and T’Challa locked in battle immediately as Tony hit Steve’s shield with a thunderous echo. Bellona, not having received a negative, leapt into the air to meet Vision, who had held back a bit as the others engaged.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Vision,” Bellona resumed the conversation as though they were having a political debate over lunch and the others weren’t at each other’s throats below. “Seeing as the collective is made up of individuals, how is infringing upon the rights and lives of  _ some  _ individuals for the sake of  _ other  _ individuals morally correct?”

“Bellona, you do not want to fight me,” Vision informed her with a shake of his head, raising his hand in an admonishing gesture. 

The former HYDRA assassin’s jaw dropped and she glared at the synthetic man. Lifting her own hand before her as though to salute Vision, she rapidly slammed her hand south; Vision’s red and yellow body went rocketing downwards, propelling him into the cement of the runway below. When Bellona landed, she had to peer into a ten foot deep, man-shaped hole in the ground to snarl at Vision. “Did you not listen to anything I just said?”

Vision was surprisingly slow to rise out of the pit Bellona had blasted him into. “I fear you let your traumatic past blind you to the necessity of the future,” the robot elaborated as he rose to stand on the cement before her. His eyes, however, betrayed the concern which resided in him at what the blue-eyed girl was truly capable of.

“Clearly you’ve never read Ayn Rand,” Bellona growled before tugging at her remaining braid. Cold white air clung in angry wisps and tendrils to her hands, then she launched a cannonball of churning snow and wind towards Vision. It engulfed him with the ferocity and speed of a tornado, immobilizing the powerful being as it froze his vibranium body. 

“How-” his eyes all that he possessed any control over; they roved downwards to study the writhing yet solid layers of ice which wrapped around him completely.

“Don’t ask, but I’m gonna need it back,” Bellona explained abruptly. She approached the frozen Vision as the battle raged on around them. “What is that?” the girl demanded. The cold she controlled forced him to his knees before her, and she lightly brushed a fingertip against the yellow stone in Vision’s forehead which could still be seen through the ice. Neither of them were expecting the powerful, electric-like jolt that emanated from the stone upon Bellona’s contact with it, even with the ice between the surfaces. “Ah!” She screamed, leaping away from him in dismay, “what just happened?”

“I do not know,” Vision answered, equally as puzzled. “Even I cannot comprehend the mysteries of the infinity stone which I carry around-”

“Infinity stone?” Bellona’s head tilted sideways in curiosity and Vision nodded at her question. She stared at him for a long, silent moment until a voice interrupted her mental roadrage. 

“I didn’t kill your father.”

“Bucky,” she whispered, turning her gaze from Vision, she snatched away the ice restraining him with a grab of her hands through the air and the whiteness vanished as soon as it was braided back into her hair. But she was gone before Vision could even process what had happened. 

“Then why did you run?” T’Challa interrogated just before his claws reached for Bucky’s throat. They never made it. Flashing over in a whirlwind of blue eyes and black combat material, Bellona snapped her fingers in response. The force of a miniature explosion erupted around the king of Wakanda, tearing his hand away from the Winter Soldier’s throat and flinging his cat-suit coated body far down the runway. 

“I’ll admit I admire someone who’s going to such lengths to achieve revenge for his father’s death, but he’s getting a little annoying,” Bellona asserted to Bucky who shot her an appreciative look to no longer have cat claws at his throat. 

“Yeah, well, not everyone can so easily forget the fact that their parents were murdered,” Bucky noted spontaneously.

Bellona shot him a cold look, “really? You want to bring that up  _ now? _ Look around you, Bucky. This situation isn’t exactly the most ideal to start talking about how you killed my parents.”

He shrugged, glancing around the airport. “This all seems normal. . . Hold up-” the super-soldier took off sprinting towards where Steve was being peppered with bullets from War Machine flying above. As Cap dove downwards into a roll to avoid the onslaught, his shield went tumbling away. Bucky snatched it up and expertly flung it up at Rhodey. The shield clobbered him directly in the mask and was then caught by Sam as he flew by. The Falcon tossed it back down to the Captain, who caught it as easily as though they were all college frat boys playing a game of ultimate frisbee. 

“I gotta get me one of those,” Bucky stared enviously at the famed shield in Steve’s grasp.

Cap chuckled, “you don’t need one of these when you got one of those.” He nodded over at Bellona, who had headed over to stand beside Bucky Barnes.

“Stop  _ objectifying  _ me, Rogers,” the girl whined playfully. “Bucky, he’s objectifying me!”

“It was meant to be a compliment,” Steve sighed in defeat before flinging his shield up in defense as War Machine returned to firing down at them. 

“Bells-” Bucky began, but she had foreseen his request for an air ward. A barrage of bullets bounced off the air about a foot above them as Rhodey flew over the trio. 

“See,” Steve observed the invisible air ward; he watched the pair stand completely unharmed under the rain of fire while he crouched with his shield over his head. “Shield’s nice and pretty though.”

“Nah, Bells is way prettier than that piece of metal,” Bucky replied as though they were chatting at a diner in the nineteen forties over milkshakes.

“Aw, Bucky, you’re making me blush,” Bellona laughed sarcastically as the three of them sprinted over to take better cover nearby one of the planes on the runway.

“Hate to make this serious, but we gotta go. That guy’s probably in Siberia by now,” Bucky stated decisively.

“We gotta draw out the flyers,” Steve noted, glancing up at the battle that raged in the skies. “I’ll take Vision, you and Bella get to the jet.”

“I can deal with them,” Bellona leapt at the opportunity, cracking her knuckles in eager anticipation.

“No, you three get to the jet!” Sam’s voice came over the shared coms. “The rest of us aren’t getting out of here. Cap, Barnes, keep Bella off Tony’s radar or no one’s getting out of here.”

“We’ve been doing that,” Bucky replied hastily, avoiding Bellona’s stare as she narrowed her eyes between the World War II veterans. Until now, it hadn’t struck her as odd that she had barely interacted with Tony Stark the entire battle.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Clint entered the conversation, “if we’re gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.”

“This isn’t the real fight, Steve,” the Falcon reminded the Captain. 

“All right, Sam,” Steve accepted their fate. “What’s the play?”

“We need a diversion, something big.”

At this, “no, Bella,” came from three different people: Steve, Clint, and Sam as they all intercepted Bellona’s comment. Her mouth hung open in astonishment, having opened it to suggest her idea for a diversion. She turned in shock to Bucky, who merely shook his head at her. Her open involvement would only anger Tony Stark further, and attract additional attention to the fact that they were attempting to flee.

“I got something kinda big,” Lang spoke up to fill the strained silence that had settled between the team. “But I can’t hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half, don’t come back for me.”

“He’s gonna tear himself in half?” Bucky was dumbfounded. Steve merely shrugged while Bellona rolled her eyes at how dramatic Lang was.

“You sure about this, Scott?” Steve asked anxiously.

“I do it all the time. I mean, once, in a lab. Then I passed out. . .” They all heard him muttering to himself before a loud roar screeched across the runway and Lang, in his Ant-Man costume, grew to a tremendous height, snatching up War Machine as he flew past.

“What the hell?” Bucky gaped down the runway at the huge being, then turned to smirk at Bellona. “Think you could have outdone that?”

“Yeah,” she glared at him, resulting only in his smirk widening. 

“I guess that’s the signal,” Steve said, shaking his head at Bucky and Bellona who were now staring so intently at each other, he was afraid they would either begin fighting intensely or kissing passionately. “Ahem,” he coughed, catching their attention. “We gotta go.”

“Right,” they both breathed out, and began sprinting towards hangar five, where the Quinjet lay waiting. Steve, briefly stunned by their synchronization, hurried to catch up.

“I don’t even wanna look behind us,” Bellona carped as the sounds of the battle shrieked at their backs. 

“Don’t,” Steve and Bucky told her in unison as they continued running.

“Why the fuck is Wanda just throwing cars?” She commented sardonically.

“Maybe that’s how she fights,” Bucky responded, sounded exasperated by her relentless feedback about the battle.

“She’s like, as powerful as I am but she’s not using her powers to the extent she could be,” Bellona griped as though this was a personal offense to her.

“Bella,” Steve’s mere tone of voice reminded her of the fact that her commentary was irrelevant and arguably detrimental to their current goal.

“Right,” she sighed before almost stumbling to a halt, “shit!” she screamed as the tower near the hangar they were racing to was cut by a laser beam and began collapsing downwards. “Vision?! What the hell?! I thought he was against this shit! Of all ways to try to stop us, he goes with destroying-”

“Bells, let’s go!” Bucky yelled, grabbing her hand and continuing to pull her along, noting that the Scarlet Witch’s red power was holding up the debris for them. Until it wasn’t. “ _ Bells _ !” 

Understanding exactly what he meant, Bellona raised an arm and flicked her hand in the direction of the crumbling tower, holding the rubble steady until the trio could enter the hangar. She allowed it to disintegrate behind them, shielding them from the others. 

They then came face to face with Natasha Romanoff, her countenance a solemn mask. “You’re not gonna stop.” It wasn’t a question.

“You know I can’t,” Steve’s reply was grave.

The former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sighed, “I’m gonna regret this.” She raised her arm, revealing her electric widow bites. The trio tensed, but relaxed when she fired a bite only to hit T’Challa, who had managed to follow them into the hangar. “Go!” Natasha urged them on. They sprinted towards the Quinjet and boarded immediately. 

“Can I fly the plane?” Bellona asked in all seriousness.

“No,” Steve and Bucky barked as Steve strapped himself into the pilot’s seat. Bucky pointed at another seat and then stared at Bellona. She scowled before taking the seat with a mutter under her breath about being ordered around by old men. The Winter Soldier rolled his eyes at her antics before taking the seat beside her. 

“We got two on us, Cap,” she warned, glancing out the windows of the jet, sensing the two metal suits approaching from behind. “Tony and Rhodey.”

Steve increased the speed of the plane, encouraging it onwards. 

“Want me to take care of ‘em?” Bellona asked hopefully.

“No,” Steve said, “we’ve done enough fighting for-”

“Oh,” Bellona suddenly gasped, straining against the straps that secured her in the seat as she could feel Vision’s blast of power through the atmosphere. “Ouch. Nevermind, they’re taking themselves out now.”

“What?” Bucky demanded, sounding perturbed. He reached over with his metal arm to clasp her hand in his.

“Vision just blasted Rhodey out of the sky,” she frowned, creases appearing on her forehead. “I think he was aiming for Sam.”

“Are they okay?” Steve asked in apprehension.

“Um. . .”

“What’s that mean?”

“Rhodey’ll live,” the Captain shot a look back at her, catching her wince. He gulped, regret suddenly coursing through him for causing such a situation. 

“This whole fight never should have happened,” Bucky muttered, and the other two aboard the jet agreed. “It was a waste of time. Our bigger problems are north of here.”


	88. June 25, 2016

“What’s gonna happen to your friends?” Bucky Barnes solemnly asked Steve Rogers as the Quinjet flew towards the hidden HYDRA base in Siberia. Bellona Drager snapped her eyes towards the Captain and studied his straight posture, intrigued as to his response. 

After a moment of strained silence, he sighed. “Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this to you, Steve,” Bucky muttered, staring out the window of the jet.

Steve swallowed, turning his head slightly so he could glance at his best friend out of the corner of his eye. “What you did all those years, it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice, either of you.”

“I know,” Bucky replied quietly, “but I did it.” Bellona frowned at his usage of the first person, and when he deliberately avoided her scrutinizing gaze. Instead, he chose to stare up at Steve as though challenging him to argue against him. Steve couldn't find it in himself to do so. 

  
  
  


************

  
  


“So? You got the files?” Tony Stark demanded of the Secretary of State the moment he hopped out of his private helicopter and onto the cold metal floor of the raft prison in the middle of the ocean. He would never admit it, but the place freaked him out more than he would have liked. “Let’s reroute the satellites, start facial scanning for this Zemo guy.”

“You seriously think I’m gonna listen to you after that fiasco in Leipzig?” Ross scoffed as Tony’s eyes widened in disbelieving shock at his words. “You’re lucky you’re not in one of these cells.” Ross then turned away, leading a now silent Tony Stark through the raft and into the control room. The queasy feeling in the billionaire’s gut increased upon spotting the monitors displaying the occupants of the cells. He couldn’t believe how far south this situation had gone.

“The Futurist, gentlemen!” Clint Barton began clapping the moment Tony demurely entered the holding cells area. “The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not.”

“Give me a break, Barton,” Tony said, scuffing his way towards the archer’s cell. “I had no idea they’d put you here. Come on.”

Clint spat contemptuously on the ground before him. “Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

“Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey,” Tony glanced around, evidently disturbed by their surroundings. “You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for-”

“Criminals?” Clint rose to his feet at this. “Criminals, Tony. Think that’s the word you’re looking for. Right?” He approached the glass of the cage he was held in and stared Howard Stark’s son down. “That didn’t used to mean me, or Sam, or Wanda. But here we are.”

“Because you broke the law,” Tony said decisively.

“Yeah,” Clint muttered disinterestedly.

“I didn’t make you,” Tony reminded him, though it sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as well.

“Law, law, law, la, la, la,” Hawkeye grumbled, beginning to wander around his cell, ignoring Tony Stark.

“You read it, you broke it.”

“La, la, la, la-”

“Alright? You’re all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don’t understand — why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?”

At this, Clint turned and shot a chilling glare at Tony. “You better watch your back with this guy,” he snarled, slamming on the glass separating them, but Iron Man had already begun walking away. “There’s a chance he’s gonna break it!”

“Hank Pym always said, you never could trust a Stark,” Scott Lang sniped out as Tony passed by.

“Who are you?”

“C’mon man. . .”

“How’s Rhodes?” Sam Wilson’s voice was solemn as Tony approached his cell.

“Well they’re flying him out to Columbia Medical tomorrow, so fingers crossed,” Tony responded, glancing about the room where the Falcon was held. “What do you need? They feed you yet?”

Sam turned to gaze at Tony Stark in disbelief, arms crossed defensively. “You’re the good cop now?”

“I’m just the guy who needs to know where they went,” his response was resolute and determined.

“Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you’re gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me,” Sam snapped aggressively.

Tony sighed and pushed his sleeve slightly out of the way to reveal his watch. Tapping a few discreet buttons, he then glanced up at the Falcon with a smirk. “Well, I just knocked the A out of their AV. We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.” Noting the hesitation in Wilson’s eyes, he tapped further on the screen of his watch. “Just look,” an image of the now dead Theo Broussard appeared before them. “Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong.”

“That’s a first,” he snorted.  

“Cap is definitely off the reservation, but he’s about to need all the help he can get. We don’t know each other very well. You don’t have to. . .”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Sam nodded his head in agreement as Tony leaned forward, eager to hear what he was about to say.

“Look, I’ll tell you,” the Falcon said, “but you have to go alone, and as a friend.”

Tony grinned, “easy.”

“They’re heading up to Siberia,” Sam muttered with a shake of his head. He then murmured the exact coordinates that the Winter Soldier had brought up earlier. “It’s one of the places where Barnes and Bella were kept.”

At the mention of Bellona Drager, Tony Stark’s grin vanished and his face grew hard. “You mean like HYDRA-”

“HYDRA, the Soviets, the whole damn package,” Sam grimaced. “There are five other super-soldiers there that they allegedly trained. They’re going to make sure this Zemo guy doesn’t get there before they do, or we’re all in some deep shit.”

“That’s gonna be the real fight,” Tony sighed, the battle in the airport now seeming like a playful skirmish compared to what he imagined lay insidiously waiting for them, buried beneath the ice and snow of the Russian tundra. “Thanks, Wilson.”

“Listen, Tony,” Sam caught his eye before he could leave. “I know Bella is like a sister to you and all, but she’s not with Steve and Barnes right now only because she doesn’t have a choice.” Iron Man simply stared blankly at the Falcon, so he continued. “She’s with them because she doesn’t agree with this whole bullshit about the Accords. You heard what she said earlier. And do you honestly think that with her track record, they wouldn’t lock her up in here for the rest of her life regardless of whether or not all this shit happened?”

“Her situation is her legal way out of imprisonment,” Tony seemed to snap out of the trance he had fallen into. “The fact that actual documents exist to explicitly state that HYDRA needed and used Barnes to control her shifts the blame away from her. You blame the president for launching the nuke, not the nuke itself.”

“What about Barnes?”

“Well, what about him?”

“HYDRA controlled him too. That’s gotta be documented somewhere, so the same nuke logic applies.”

“Look, I’m not James Drager,” Tony was becoming irked by this conversation. “That man could manage to finagle this Zemo character out of the whole situation. I didn’t come here to talk about who’s guilty of what. Everyone in here chose to break the law, that’s where the fault lies.”

“Keep contradicting yourself, Tony,” Sam shook his head, knowing their time was up. “It’ll lead you straight to hell.”


	89. August 30, 1983

“You wanna tell me why our parents are freaking out?” Thirteen-year old Tony Stark found nine-year old Bellona Drager sitting hunched over on the cream-colored covers of her bed. In her lap, her German Shepherd puppy was snoozing as though the Drager household wasn’t strained by an unspoken friction that Tony was utterly bewildered about. He greeted her with a one-armed hug so as not to disturb the sleeping puppy, fondly tugging on her loose chestnut hair as he did so.

“Um, something happened outside,” Bellona had flinched when Tony banged open her bedroom door, not having been expecting him to arrive at such a time despite his frequent presence in her home. 

“Dad thought it was important enough to come,” Howard Stark’s son elaborated, crossing her room to sink into the ocean blue bean bag chair in front of her disorderly bookshelves. His eyes briefly skimmed the titles, noting those which he had given to her a few weeks back. “He never thinks anything is important enough to be bothered about.  And he brought your cousin, the badass looking agent; Carter, I think it is.

“There was a truck outside,” Bellona began to explain in a soft voice, “Bismarck ran into the street in front of it, and the truck just. . . exploded. I don’t know how it happened.” She informed him of the situation as if she truly had no idea what had occurred earlier in the day. While in fact, she was terrified because she knew it had been her who had caused the explosion, and was further petrified that someone would learn of her abilities, as there had been plenty of witnesses on the crowded Boston street. The fact that there had been so few casualties was a miracle in and of itself.

“The truck — just exploded?” Tony frowned at this, catching her blue eyes with his dark, he scrutinized her intently for a moment before shrugging it off. “So Dad thinks exploding trucks are more interesting than my early acceptance to M.I.T.”

Bellona rolled her eyes as the puppy in her lap yawned into wakefulness. “Well, that wasn’t a surprise was it?”

“Huh. Guess not. But still, dad should just adopt you, seeing as he thinks you’re more interesting than I am,” the teenager’s voice was cynically satirical as he tugged out a thick volume from Bellona’s bookshelf behind him. “The  _ Principia _ ? Did you like it?” He had gotten her all three volumes of Newton’s famous work and stated that he would rewrite them if she decided to major in “something sciency” in college.

“Haven’t read it yet,” she responded, letting Bismarck hop off her lap and patter across the room to greet Tony Stark with an excited bark. “Still reading  _ The Manchurian Candidate.  _ Dad got it for me, I think it’s really good.”

“The book was boring. Watch the movie, it’s better. And Frank Sinatra’s in it.”

“You just don’t have the attention span for something that doesn’t include equations and math stuff,” Bellona taunted him, though the smile she gave him was one of genuine happiness. She was increasingly grateful that he had shown up and was successfully distracting her from the pit of worry in her stomach with his mischievous banter.

“Okay, first, that’s a lie. Second, the movie was fantastic so I have no idea what you’re talking about, and third can you please get your dog to stop licking my face I’m trying to hold a conversation here and slobber isn’t that great tasting.”

Bellona let out a low whistle and the puppy turned his head over towards her, his ears flopping about as he let his tongue roll over his teeth into a canine grin. Bismarck trotted his way back towards her, leaping up onto the bed to settle into a furry ball beside her.

“Did you implant something into his brain?” Tony was staring at the dog the same way he looked at his next science project. “And classically train him that way?”

“His name is actually Laika. I kidnapped him from the Soviets before they launched him into space and then I brainwashed him,” Bellona quipped with a snort, her voice fabulously sarcastic. “I should have named him Frank.”

“Thought he might be Rin-Tin-Tin. But for the record, Sinatra is a way cooler name for a dog,” Tony played along with her joke as he returned the book to the shelf behind him, then rose to his feet. From his pocket he pulled out some sort of thin electronic device that lit up in reaction to his touch and projected a blue screen into the air before him. He raised it to eye level and as he spoke, she watched the audio waves rise and fall on the projected screen of the device. “Queen of diamonds. You wanna go eavesdrop on the adults?”

Bellona Drager’s lips curled into a grin as devious as Tony Stark’s. “Yes.”


	90. June 25, 2016

“Nat always has the best guns,” Bellona Drager informed Bucky Barnes as he searched about the Quinjet for weapons. Taking her advice, the former Winter Soldier tugged open the compartment labelled “Romanoff” and pulled out a heavy gun. He inspected it, and apparently it satisfied him, as he shot a smirk at Bellona, who merely rolled her eyes. She cracked her knuckles and rolled out her wrists as the two World War II veterans prepared themselves for the fight they were expecting.

“I got dibs on Josef,” Bellona announced as the hatch leading out of the plane opened with an electric whine.

“Really, Bells?” Bucky sighed, sending her a disapproving glance at the frivolous way she was approaching the potential fight they could be walking into.

“Yeah,” she remarked, “I hated him. He was a little shithead. Remember that time-”

“I don’t really want to, but yes,” Bucky then gestured for her to remain silent as the door opened, revealing the blurry white Siberian tundra before them. A shiver ran down Bellona’s spine as the environment flushed memories long forgotten to the front of her mind. The cold evidently brought memories back to the others as well, but these were much more pleasant.

“You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway beach in the back of that freezer truck?” Steve glanced at Bucky hopefully.

“Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?” Bucky smiled in warm reminiscence. 

“You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead.”

Bucky grinned, cheekily elbowing Bellona in the ribs at this. “What was her name again?”

“Dolores,” Steve said, chuckling at the flickers of flippant jealousy that arose in Bellona’s eyes. “You called her Dot.”

“She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now,” Bucky shook his head in disbelief.

“So are we, pal,” Steve reminded him, clapping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder until the former Winter Soldier’s fond smile faded and Steve removed his hand, looking away and out at the windswept landscape before them. An air of unbidden tension had arisen between them.

“You done?” Bellona demanded from Bucky’s left, satisfied when the two said nothing; instead they stepped down onto the landing platform and out into the biting wind.

“Shit,” she grumbled as they approached the underground bunker. The doors had been left open, blowing in the strong northern gales.

“He can’t have been here more than a few hours,” Steve said with a grimace.

“Long enough to wake them up,” Bucky added, sharing a look with Bellona before they cautiously entered the old HYDRA facility. 

Darkness engulfed the trio until Bucky nudged Bellona’s shoulder with the barrel of his gun. “Oh, right,” she mumbled, having been distracted by the memories that were surging their way through her brain in her return to the facility. Rubbing her forefinger against her thumb, a ball of glowing white light grew into being on the palm of her hand. It threw their fading metal surroundings into stark light. She ushered the ball of light upwards, so it floated just above their heads, shedding its eerie luminescence around them.

“Elevator’s over here,” Bucky said gruffly, leading them to the rusty lift. They slowly piled in, the trepidation increasing amongst them as Bellona fidgeted uncomfortably. Her lower lip was now a torn mess from her teeth constantly digging into the soft flesh, until Bucky removed a hand from his gun and placed two metal fingers onto her lips. Meeting his eyes without emotion, she inhaled deeply and forced her teeth to cease their anxious biting.

They exited the elevator in silence; their guard up, they made their way through the cobweb decorated facility. Bucky leading them forwards, Bellona on his right side, her senses expanded as she scoured their surroundings for any threat. Steve bringing up the rear, his shield at the ready to fend off any incoming attack.

“Stop,” Bellona murmured just as they began climbing up a flight of cement stairs. Her words were immediately followed by a loud banging noise behind them. This combination of warnings had the Soldier and the Captain whipping around, gun and shield at the ready. Bellona shot the ball of light towards where the noise was emanating from so that whoever — or whatever — was arriving would be illuminated and the trio would be in relative darkness, giving them the clear advantage should the situation turn hostile.

“You ready?” Steve asked as the noises continued advancing.

“Yeah,” Bucky and Bellona whispered back in unison, until the doors at the opposite end of the room were forced open.

“Oh my God,” Bellona uttered a small scream as the unmistakable mask and suit of Iron Man appeared. He stepped into the room and his mask dropped, revealing the resolute face of Tony Stark. Not lowering his weapon, Bucky grabbed Bellona by the waist and slowly pushed her behind him. Steve rose from his defensive crouch and took a few curious steps forward.

“You seem a little defensive,” Tony remarked as he approached the group.

“It’s been a long day,” Steve cautiously replied as Tony came to stand before him.

“At ease, soldier,” Tony looked up at where Bucky still remained on call to shoot. “I’m not currently after you.”

“Then why are you here?” Cap demanded as Bellona peeked around Bucky’s tall frame to stare at Tony Stark.

Iron Man shrugged, glancing about the abandoned facility around them. “Could be your story’s not so crazy. Maybe. Ross has no idea I’m here, I’d like to keep it that way,” Tony muttered quickly, leaning against a nearby pole and raising his hands in annoyance. “Otherwise I gotta arrest myself.”

“Well that sounds like a lot of paperwork,” Steve commented dryly, making Tony snort. After a moment, the Captain lowered his shield. “It’s good to see you, Tony.”

“You too, Cap,” Tony Stark smiled grimly before glancing over to where Bucky Barnes was both trying to keep his gun trained on Iron Man and keep Bellona Drager securely behind him. He was failing at the latter, however. “Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you’re killing me. There’s a truce here, you can drop your weapon and get your hands off Bella.” Bucky didn’t move until Steve gestured to him and he lowered his gun; leaning against the wall, he released his grip on Bellona. The girl shot forward instantly, leaping down the stairs and flinging her arms around the cold metal suit Tony wore. 

“Woah, easy there, gunpowder,” his suit whirred and whined as he returned her unexpected hug. Their greeting had the painfully joyous feel of the reunion between a soldier and family upon said soldier’s return home from a long deployment. 

“What the hell, Tony!” She exclaimed in a fury as he briefly swung her through the air in a circle the way he used to do when she was five years old and he was nine. 

“What did I do now?” He groaned, dropping her back onto the floor and ignoring the horrified look Bucky Barnes had on his face.

“I dunno, everything?” Bellona crossed her arms and glared at him. “The airport, the Accords, now having a change of heart and showing up here. . . Where are the others?”

“Uh. . . Jail,” Tony guiltily scratched the back of his head. “The floating ocean super-max prison that for some reason exists. . .”

“That’s what happens if you disagree with the government?” Bellona raised a judgemental eyebrow, “you’re thrown in jail? Sounds a bit like a former government I used to work for. They called them gulags, though. Not floating ocean super-max prisons.”

“I don’t make the rules, Bella.”

“You seem more than eager to follow them, though.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Steve coughed awkwardly, uncomfortably glancing between the pair as though he had stumbled into the same room as two siblings heatedly bickering over something trivial. “But an argument isn’t really the best idea right now.”

Bellona Drager gave Tony Stark a sharp look. “We have to have a conversation when this is all over.”

“Could have had one a long time ago if you had returned any of my calls,” Tony shot an accusatory glare at Bucky Barnes, who merely stared at him in mild shock. 

“So what, I could be found and thrown in prison a year ago instead of now?” Bellona barked angrily.

“Bells,” Bucky then exhorted, drawing her attention to him. She grudgingly fell silent as he looked her in the eye. “We have more important things to worry about.”

“So that’s how that works,” Tony mused aloud at the interaction between the two. “Surprisingly unclever nicknames and intense eye contact and bam — instant obedience. No microchips? No classical training?”

“Shut up, Tony,” Bellona snapped at him. “HYDRA rewired my brain the way you rewire your suit’s operating software.”

“So you’re saying I can fix it?”

“I’m saying neither of us chose this!”

“Are you sure, because both of you seem fine with it,” he pointed at the two of them, making both suddenly conscious of how close they were standing to each other, and the fact that Bucky had even relinquished the grip on his gun to clasp one of Bellona’s hands in his. He let it go as soon as this was observed aloud. 

As Tony Stark scowled between the pair of HYDRA-trained assassins, Steve Rogers shook his head. It felt like he was the intermediary between two toddlers who refused to share their favorite toy with the other. “Let’s keep going,” Cap declared, eyes flicking around the room to gain the acknowledgement and agreement of this. The group shared looks between each other before a shimmer of understanding passed through them. Their differences having been temporarily laid aside in order to deal with the more pressing matter before them. Tony’s metal mask whined its way back over his face as Bucky shifted his gun upwards to better maintain his aim. Steve’s shield was once more at the ready, and Bellona stroked her braid with anticipation, awaiting orders to strike.

“I got heat signatures,” Iron Man announced as they rounded a corner and stepped through a doorway that led to a larger room in the facility. 

“So do I,” Bellona murmured, a frown marring her cool countenance.

“How many?” Captain America asked.

“Uh. . . one,” Tony replied, sounding somewhat unsure.

“What?” Bellona questioned, increasingly concerned because she had detected more than just one heat signature. The group had now entered the larger room of the facility, and several lights flicked on; the multiple cryofreeze containers around them were illuminated with ghastly precision. “Wait,” the girl with the long braid hissed in confusion as she noted the screens displaying the vitals of those inside the cryo containers. Their hearts had all flatlined.

“If it’s any comfort,” a scratchy voice came on over a speaker somewhere in the facility. “They died in their sleep.” This made the group entering uneasy; they shared looks of dismay between them but continued nonetheless. “Did you really think I wanted more of you?”

“What the hell?” Bucky muttered, becoming perturbed by the situation. This was not what they had planned to walk into.

“I’m grateful to them, though,” the disembodied voice went on, “they brought you here.” Finally, a light flickered at the far end of the room, revealing the bunker in which Helmut Zemo resided in. The group reacted instantaneously. Iron Man raised a hand, ready to fire. The Winter Soldier’s gun snapped over as Bellona’s arm came up, tendrils of crackling electricity running over her bare hand and combat suit-covered arm. Steve, however, beat them all to it. Flinging his shield in immediate response, it struck the concrete, steel reinforced bunker Zemo was behind, and rocketed back to Cap’s arm like a boomerang.

“Please, Captain,” Zemo chuckled superciliously, “the Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets.”

“I’m betting I can beat that,” Tony challenged as the group circled around the room, slowly approaching the bunker.

“This chamber was designed using something more powerful than a bomb as an example, Mr. Stark,” Zemo’s smirk could be heard in his words as Bellona suddenly felt eyes on her. She shifted self-consciously, attracting the attention of the others. “Given time, perhaps you could. But then you’d never know why you came.”

“You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here,” Steve Rogers accused, stalking towards the bunker with unparalleled determination. He approached the window that peered into the chamber and stared Helmut Zemo down.

“I’ve thought about nothing else for over a year,” Zemo’s face was solemnly grim. “I studied you. I followed you. But now that you’re standing here, I’ve just realized. . .  there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes. How nice to find a flaw.”

“You’re Sokovian,” it wasn’t a question. Steve let Zemo’s statement brush past as he pushed further for answers. “Is that what this is about?”

“Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell,” Zemo shook his head while Tony Stark and Bellona Drager found themselves sharing an intrigued glance. It ended when the war goddess raised her eyebrows in an “I-told-you-so” manner and Iron Man removed his mask just so he could shake his head at her. “No. I’m here because I made a promise.”

“You lost someone.”

“I lost everyone. And so will you.” The group outside the chamber stood at attention, drawing closer to the bunker as a screen flickered to life just outside it. “An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead. Forever.” Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Bellona Drager stood before the screen, on which a video had popped up and begun playing. It appeared to be old footage from a home security camera. The date in the corner displayed: December 2, 1991.

“Bella!” Tony gaped, his eyes flicking between the screen and the girl beside him with a fiery intensity because of the relevance of the date to her. But he was baffled by her lack of reaction to the footage. As the video played out, showing the events that occurred in the Drager household over twenty years ago —  the entrance of the Winter Soldier, the gunshot that felled James Drager in an instant, then the murder of his wife, Maria Drager. All eyes turned to their daughter to judge her reaction to the fact that the man she’d been in hiding with for years was the murderer of her parents. And all found themselves utterly flabbergasted. Bellona Drager was watching the screen with complete apathy, as though lazily regarding another news report of another murder in Anothertown, U.S.A. Her blue eyes were disturbingly vacant, as empty as they had always been inside a HYDRA facility. The only hint that she understood the significance of the video was the flashing of her white teeth as she gnawed repeatedly on her lower lip.  

“Oh,” Bellona raised her eyes as she noticed everyone was fervently awaiting her reaction. “I know.” She gave Helmut Zemo inside the bunker a chilling nod, which he returned with a blank stare. 

“Bella,” Tony began, mouth hanging open in shock. Her evident indifference had immobilized him. “He killed your parents! My parents’ best friends, my godparents!”

“I know,” she repeated, turning to look Tony in the eye. Before he could respond, however, his attention was fixed back onto the screen, where another video had begun playing. This time, however, the date read December 16, 1991.

“Wait — I know that road!” Tony exclaimed, stepping closer to the screen. “What is this?” He yelled at Zemo, who knew he had now struck gold. 

Even Bellona couldn’t help her intake of breath as the screen showed a familiar figure on a motorcycle pull up beside the crashed car. All eyes flashed towards Bucky Barnes as Howard Stark was murdered on screen before them. The Winter Soldier lowered his gaze, guilt suddenly threatening to consume him. 

The moment the video had ended, Tony made a lunge towards Bucky, who instinctively raised his gun. 

“No, Tony!” Steve grabbed him by the metal arm of his suit, causing him to turn back towards him. Tony Stark finally forced himself to look at Cap, uncontrollable emotion flitting through his eyes. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t know it was him.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers.  _ Did you know _ ?” Tony snarled wrathfully at him, causing Steve to take a step back.

“Yes.” At this, Tony Stark flung himself away from Steve Rogers, raging horror, unforeseen betrayal, and paralyzing shock evident on his face. 

The next actions happened in a heartbeat. Iron Man’s mask snapped over his face and suddenly Captain America was sent flying across the room. In his defense, the Winter Soldier flung his gun upwards, aiming at Iron Man. He never had the chance to shoot however, as his gun was blasted out of his hand immediately. So he leapt at him instead, his silver arm coming up to clash against Iron Man’s metal suit as Tony Stark attempted to unleash his fury upon the murderer who took everyone from him.

“Stop!” Bellona Drager had been frozen, stupefied as to what to do. She supposed there wasn’t anything she  _ could  _ do; the closest thing she had to a brother was trying to kill her lover because he had killed  _ his  _ parents who were also  _ her  _ godparents, meanwhile the same man who had killed  _ his  _ parents had also murdered  _ her  _ parents, who, as a sidenote, were also  _ his  _ godparents, yet she believed she had come to terms with this fact, because there was nothing she could do about it. But simultaneously, having returned to the HYDRA facility which had made her who she was today was a screaming reminder that her brain was inhumanly hardwired to obey the Winter Soldier, ergo, perhaps Tony Stark was justified. 

Seeing the two clash against each other was a literal embodiment of her two selves struggling with the other. On one hand, there was Tony; he was her childhood, they grew up together, learned how to navigate the rocky world in which they lived together. He had helped her acclimate back into the modern world, had been her steady reliance in her return from HYDRA and out of cryo. He was family, a reminder of who she was and where she came from. On the other hand, there was the Winter Soldier. He, however, was more complicated because of his own duality. Bucky Barnes was Bellona Drager from the 1940s. An American, snatched from his happy-go-lucky life, leaving behind nothing and nobody save a friend to whom he was the only family left. But Bucky Barnes  _ was  _ the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier had shaped Bellona Drager into an unthinking killing machine; he had murdered her parents, stolen her away from her life, legacy, and throne to be inherited, trained her into a cold-blooded assassin entirely subordinate to him. However, that had all been under HYDRA’s orders. But, then again, Bucky had said it himself earlier:  _ he  _ still did it. 

Tony Stark wished to exact his vengeance upon the Winter Soldier. He did not see the brainwashed sergeant from the Second World War. He saw the fist of HYDRA, the merciless assassin with a file overflowing with the blood and suffering of those whom he loved. 

Steve Rogers wished to protect Bucky Barnes, his sworn brother, who had his back until the end of the line, from the emotionally-charged wrath of Tony Stark, his teammate and friend. 

And Bellona Drager was helplessly caught between them all. Unable to decide who to support, because she loved both, equally, for her own reasons. And because one look from the Winter Soldier and she would lose her ability to choose. One word and she was loosing the unforgiving vehemence of a tempest against the last member of her family.

Bellona was shaken from her existential crisis when a rocket Iron Man had been attempting to fire at the Winter Soldier hit one of the cryo tanks and caused it to explode. It began crumbling downwards as a fireball imploded upwards. This triggered a chain reaction; all around them, the facility began collapsing with ominous suggestion of events to follow. It seemed to call a slight moratorium in the raging emotions echoing around the room, despite the roar of destruction ringing through the air. Iron Man had been temporarily buried beneath debris, and Captain America and the Winter Soldier found themselves staring at each other across the rubble. 

“Get out of here!” Steve Rogers shouted over, and Bucky Barnes nodded, jumping to his feet and looking towards Bellona Drager. She was between him and Cap, frozen in indecision. 

“Bells, c’mon!” He called to her, but she hardly glanced a look at him.

“Go!” She yelled back. Not making eye contact with him, she began climbing over the steel and stone towards where Tony Stark was rising out of the ruins of the facility. Bucky took her advice and began sprinting towards the only remaining exit above. Iron Man, however, followed immediately, shooting erratically towards the Soldier. He was met by Steve, who leapt in between him and Bucky.

“It wasn’t him, Tony,” Steve tried to reason, out of breath. “HYDRA had control of his mind!”

“Move!” Tony warned, raising a hand towards Cap, who instinctively lifted his shield in response.

“Tony,” Bellona begged, stepping up beside Steve and gazing at the glaring mask of Iron Man. “Please-”

“Does what he did to you mean nothing?” Tony bellowed and flung his hand towards Bellona Drager in an instant reaction and fired once, then twice. She screamed as glints of silver flew towards her; next thing she knew, she was knocked to the ground as cold metal encased itself around both her wrists, reaching up to her mid-forearm. With it came the suffocating but familiar feeling of being oppressed. She supposed she ought to have known that he would have found a way to synthesize the old metal HYDRA had once used. Combined with the environment around her, this feeling evoked the return of powerful, almost overwhelming memories from her assassin days. 

Having ensured Bella would not become entrenched in the fight, Tony powered his suit upwards, streaking towards Steve, who was shouting desperately at him. “It wasn’t him!”

Bellona was jerked out of her nightmarish memories and back to reality when Tony shot a laser at the cement above her and Steve. Successfully, if temporarily, blocking the both of them out and guaranteeing he had unrestricted access to pursue the Winter Soldier. Steve Rogers wasted no time in attacking the rubble, shifting it outwards and away to clear a space for him to escape. Bellona watched him, still on her knees, incapacitated by the dichotomy that was tearing through her. 

“I gotta ask, Bella,” Steve said, heaving away a large chunk of cement and shooting a quick look at her. “Whose side are you on?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered the words as though they pained her. “But go!” Steve glanced at her with nothing but pity filling his features before he picked his way through the hole he had created in the rubble and vanished. 

She finally rose to her feet and stumbled after him, coughing slightly because of the dust the explosion had stirred up, she emerged out of the debris and glanced around. A despicable silence had filled the old facility; it pierced through her tangled brain and allowed her to focus for the first time since Tony had turned on Bucky. After a moment of nothing but her shaky breathing, her senses seemed to return to her, and she urged herself onwards, towards where she detected three heartbeats, each in varying stages of distress. 

She staggered through the facility, flinching at every shout, yell, and snarl she heard from the battle that had resumed below. Her own heart was pounding like a battle drum and her breathing was nearing the verge of hyperventilation, but she forced herself to pursue the sounds of civil war.

“This isn’t gonna change what happened,” came Cap’s determined voice.

“I don’t care,” was Tony’s ruthless reply. “He killed my mom.”

Bellona leapt down to the level of the fight just as Bucky snatched up Cap’s shield and engaged Iron Man. She wavered for a moment, watching the Winter Soldier and Captain America combine their well-honed skills to take Iron Man on: two against one in merciless hand-to-hand combat. She knew Tony Stark could never defeat even a single super-soldier in close combat, much less two, with a vibranium shield between them. Swallowing her hesitation, and avoiding even thinking about Bucky Barnes, she sprinted forward, leaping at Steve Rogers and shoving him away from Tony Stark. She drove him backwards to the wall, where his head slammed against the concrete in sheer astonishment from the unexpected blow. Sensing a burst of energy behind her, Bellona then kicked Steve’s legs out from under him, causing him to topple to the cold ground. She rolled downwards herself, just as a blast from Tony’s suit scoured the wall where Steve had been seconds ago. 

Noting that Cap was slow to get up from the traumatic blow to his head, Bellona turned to face the fight that was ensuing between Bucky and Tony.

“ _ Bells!”  _ came a sudden snarl of Russian from the Winter Soldier as he pinned Iron Man to the wall and was madly clenching his metal fist around the miniature arc reactor that powered the famous suit. Snapping to astute awareness, she gaped, horrified, as Tony Stark desperately attempted to claw Bucky Barnes away from the most vital part of his suit. Her brain itself seemed to tremble in terror at what her next actions could be, as they depended entirely on what the Winter Soldier ordered. 

His pivotal aqua eyes flicked back to meet her imploring blue ones. “ _ Now!” _ was the shout and Bellona wanted to whimper helplessly when she found herself taking her first step towards the fight. 

But she never had the chance to take another. Steve Rogers had stretched a hand out from where he had been slowly rising from the ground, and grabbed her lower calf. Knocking her off her feet, he pulled her down beside him, successfully disrupting the command complex with the Winter Soldier, and preventing her from intervening. In a frantic attempt to do something, anything, that would benefit someone, anyone, she reached a metal-covered hand up towards her last braid. It unravelled just as a tremor shook the floor which she and Steve crouched on, and a tortured yell was emitted from Bucky Barnes. 

Frigid, white air and snow hummed into existence around them as Bellona Drager turned to see Iron Man hit the Winter Soldier with a blast from the arc reactor itself, and Bucky collapsed to the ground, motionless. Gut-wrenching dread filled the girl with the now loosened dark hair as she spotted the gory stump of what remained of Bucky’s metal arm. Its bloody red star seemed to leer outwards, mocking her with a knowing bitterness. She slipped on the ice-coated ground as she darted towards a groaning Bucky Barnes.

Steve Rogers meanwhile, now in an absolute rage, had dashed across to Tony Stark and was brutally assaulting him, this time holding back nothing. 

“Bucky!” Bellona cried, kneeling down to his side and surveying the damage to his arm. He gazed up at her weakly, his azure eyes blinking furiously to disrupt the darkness that was encroaching upon the edges of his vision. 

“Bells, duck,” he managed to croak out. She did so immediately, just as Cap’s shield was sent hurtling back towards them, blasted away by Iron Man. The fight then moved directly above them. Steve collapsed to the ground between Bucky and Tony, coughing out the blood that had risen to his throat. He raised his head to gaze up at Iron Man. 

“He’s my friend,” Steve panted out.

“So was I,” Tony reminded him and Bellona screamed as he hit Steve with two brutal punches which had him on his hands and knees again before he picked him up and flung him away from the unmoving Winter Soldier.

“Stay down, final warning,” Iron Man said imperatively, the eyes of his mask glowing threateningly at Steve. As Cap slowly climbed to his feet, Bellona silently crept over Bucky Barnes’ body. The winter storm she had released whipped around the small area. Having no decided target, it wreaked its vengeance upon all, equally. Whirling snow shrieked through the small space the fight was occurring in and battered at everyone with an unforgiving ferocity. Already, ice was forming along the metal of the Iron Man suit, on Steve’s dropped shield as well as his blue uniform, on Bucky’s lost arm and the stump that now existed, and on Bellona’s hair itself. 

“I could do this all day,” Steve breathed out, feebly lifting his hands into a textbook fighting position. 

Tony raised his own hand, his suit powering up for a blast, when Bellona simply repeated Steve’s own move. A mere grab at the leg of the Iron Man suit was all she needed for him to turn away from Steve, lose his balance on the wintry ground, and slip — the blast hitting who had not been its intended target. 

Bellona Drager’s scream was brimming with pained surprise as the blast from the Iron Man suit impacted her at point blank range. She was sent careening across the small area, over Bucky, and impacting the far wall with a resounding bang that left her appearing lifeless on the glacial ground just a few paces from the former Winter Soldier. 

“Bella!” Tony Stark let out a panicked shout when he realized this, not having meant to injure or even involve her in what he saw as a fight solely between him and Barnes, with Cap just stubbornly getting in the way. 

His distraction was enough for Steve Rogers to capitalize. Ensuring the proper leverage, he was able to lift the Iron Man suit over his head, use Tony’s own momentum from his activated jet propulsors, and violently fling him down to the ground. He then leapt atop him and snatched up the tossed aside shield to begin banging on the helmet of the suit, until it popped off to reveal a terrified Tony Stark. Protecting his face with his hands, Tony was dumbfounded when Cap instead went for the arc reactor. The ice having coated the suit assisted in the shattering of it, successfully powering it down so it was effectively useless. 

“You done?” Bellona’s speech was slow and slurred from her collision with the concrete wall and from Tony’s blaster. She had, however, managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, ignoring the pain clicking throughout her body. Wiping away the blood that had trickled into her eyes from a deep cut on her head, she was watching the aftermath of the fight defuse. 

Steve picked himself up off a gasping Tony Stark and approached Bucky, lifting him off the floor and draping his remaining arm over his shoulders to support him. By now, most of the ice and snow twisting around the area had escaped to the Siberian tundra outside, but a few flurries remained to solemnly fall upon the trio in raw lamentation. 

“That shield doesn’t belong to you,” Tony wheezed from his position on the snow-covered ground. “You don’t deserve it. My father made that shield!” This seemed to strike a chord with Steve, and Bellona watched him pause before it clattered away to the ground with an air of finality.

As Steve helped Bucky away and out of the facility, Bellona urged herself to rise to her feet, swaying slightly as her body assessed the damages done to it. She was sure her collarbone had cracked somewhere from Iron Man’s direct blast; she knew she would be covered in bruises for quite some time, and the cut that had opened from her temple down to her jawline certainly had a chance of scarring. And the last of the power she carried in her braided hair for so long was gone. She then made eye contact with Tony Stark.

“You coming, Bella?” Steve asked as he and Bucky trudged up the stairs.

“Uh,” she hesitated, still staring at a hurt and pleading Tony Stark who now couldn’t find it in himself to speak. Light snow remained to fall between the pair with graceful portent. It settled with a cold caress on her untamed hair and on his groomed goatee as he watched her swallow, watched the blood drip morbidly down the side of her face, and watched her turn to look at the two other super-soldiers. He was expecting her to go with them, after all, with Barnes’ presence, she wasn’t given a choice in the matter. He didn’t expect her to glance back at him with an apologetic smile that hinted at when he would next see her. “Love you, big bro.”

 

 

 

**Finis.**

**For now.**

**Sequel to be out imminently.**


	91. Sequel

Sequel is out! Thank you for sticking with this story for so long! Enjoy!


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